


A Star in the Night

by Sincorah



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Background Kíli/Tauriel - Freeform, F/M, Female Bilbo, Probably Doesn't Have to be Rated Teen, Rule 63, Shapeshifters - Freeform, background bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 57,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincorah/pseuds/Sincorah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cast out from her family and all that she has known, a young human struggles with finding acceptance and dealing with her shameful past. By wildest chance she befriends a young hobbit by the name of Bilba Baggins, not knowing that friendship would lead to incredible ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wandering the Wilds

Asta gazed into her flickering campfire, procrastinating getting cleaned up until the last possible second as she lounged on the dirt in the forest. The drying troll blood in her mouth was absolutely foul, but other than the taste and the stench, she was warm and comfortable. Her thoughts, as they often did when she was feeling exceptionally lonely, wandered to her oldest (and only) friend Bilba. She hoped she was still safe and cozy in her luxurious smial, and the thought gave the human comfort in her solitude, that if she couldn’t be entirely happy, at least her dear friend could.

Unfortunately, her mind continued to wander on, and she began to recall different flashes of her life before her eyes. _The walls of the white city, Minas Tirith gleaming in all of its majesty, the capital of the greatest standing kingdom of Men._ Flash. _Wandering outside on the evening after a full moon, proving that she was just as brave as any lad._ Flash. _The whining and growling of a dark creature in pain, a flash of mottled fur too swift for her eyes to follow, searing pain in her left shoulder and down her back as teeth raked her vulnerable skin._ Flash.

She shuddered, coming back to herself quickly. The attack by the diseased warg haunted her nightmares enough, there was no cause to think on such events during waking hours so many years later. Unbidden and unwanted, however, the memories resurfaced once more.

 _Her own family, fearing her, hating her, disowning her before the city. Her own mother, calling her a freakish monster, brandishing a kitchen knife at her wounded and frightened thirteen year old daughter._ _Anger, confusion, self-loathing. Freak. Monster. Cursed filth._

Trying once more to pull herself from her thoughts, she was once again struck by the unfairness of it all. She had not asked to be attacked by a diseased warg. She hadn’t asked to be turned into a monster. Even when faced with her body becoming something else, a _wolf,_ three nights a month, she was able to keep her mind and took no lives, yet still her own people cast her out. She was a _child_! She tried in different areas to fit in, find a home, but in each place as soon as her condition was discovered, she was threatened and tossed back out.

_Five years later she gave up all hope of ever being accepted, and the eighteen year old took to wandering in the wilderness, avoiding others when at all possible. It would have been easy to become bitter and vengeful, but she had been made to believe that this was entirely her fault, and she tried to make up for it by helping where she could. Whenever she came across orcs, wargs, or goblins in her travels she would slay them, either with weapons or with claw and fang. Her condition granted her swift healing, an aversion to silver, excellent reflexes, slightly above-average strength, a longer life-span (similar to that of a healthy dwarrow) and night-vision, all in her human form._

_She was able to shift forms at will, although on the night before, of, and after the full moon the change was forced. Fortunately, she kept her mind even at these times, but it was still inconvenient. Rejected and shunned wherever she went, she remained in the wilds, helping any of the free peoples of middle earth she came across if they so needed it, but otherwise avoiding them if possible. After years of being told she was a monster, an abomination, she had begun to believe it, and had even come to the point where she was debating whether or not to take her own life._

_The young werewolf found herself in the forested areas on the borders of the peaceful Shire when these dark thoughts began to fully form. She had ended up sneaking into a very large hobbit hole, (or smial, as she later discovered they were called), and found a silver knife that would do the job admirably. It was the sight of a suicidal human girl holding one of her silver knives to her throat that greeted young Bilba Baggins when she came home that evening, although all she saw at first was a burglar attempting to steal some of her silverware._

_The mild altercation that followed still brings a wolfish grin to Asta’s face to this day when she thinks of it, how the little hobbit had attacked the human with her umbrella. It had been laughably easy to deflect the blow, disarm the hobbit, and hold the knife to her throat, but the shifter had stopped before she even came close to hurting her. She had broken into the hobbit’s territory uninvited, after all, and she was well within her rights to drive the intruder out or kill her if she so chose._

_However, when she pulled away the knife, dropped to her knees, and offered the hilt of the blade to the hobbit, she simply stared in fear and confusion. Time stretched on and on, and finally Asta waved the knife a bit in clear invitation for her to take it. Bilba did so automatically, and Asta then tipped her head back to bare her throat, presenting a perfect target. Another minute passed, and she huffed slightly in irritation at the continued lack of a sharp blade ending the miserable existence of a monster._

_“W-Would you, perhaps, like s-some tea?”_

_“Why do you hesitate to kill me?”_

_They spoke at the same time, and then both did a double take. “What did you just say?” they asked simultaneously. Bilba looked at her rather nervously and repeated her offer of tea and biscuits. Asta’s shoulders slumped, and when she spoke her voice was thick with resignation and defeat. “Please Mistress Hobbit, I know I transgressed against you by trespassing in your home and laying hands upon your belongings, but do not mock me. Kill me if that is the price for my crimes, or throw me out if you will, but I have not the patience for false kindness this evening.”_

_Bilba was silent for a long moment, then she smiled softly, though her eyes were full of sadness. “It seems to me that a bit of tea would do you good, or perhaps even a full meal. I do not mock you, rather I would be honored if you would join me for supper. As for your unexpected arrival here, speak no more of it. I do like visitors. Granted, I generally prefer to know them before they come visiting, but here I think I can make an exception.”_

_The werewolf stared at the hobbit, searching her eyes for any hint of mockery and lies. They shone true, earnest and heartfelt, and she could clearly feel compassion coming from Bilba, but no misplaced pity, for which she was grateful. Finally she had accepted the offer, and stayed for supper. Somehow the charismatic young hobbit had also managed to convince her to spend the night in one of Bag End’s many guest rooms, and then the next day and night as well._

_Asta became very fond of the hobbit, and it seemed she felt the same of the human given Bilba’s generosity to her and overall cheerfulness whenever she was near. As the hobbit worked in her garden the next day (Asta had offered to help but had been politely but firmly denied, as it seemed hobbits were rather protective of their gardening), they had spoken at length, and Bilba told her of her own loneliness since the very recent death of her parents._

* * *

 

_Shortly after that conversation, their talk had turned to Asta’s life, and she had filled Bilba in as much as she could whilst omitting that she was a lycanthrope. When the young Baggins heard her guest had no place to stay at the time, the hobbit had immediately offered her lodging in Bag End for as long as she desired it. It had taken time, but the girl had ended up accepting the generous offer, and for the next several months stayed in the Shire. In return for housing and feeding her, she often disappeared into the nearby fields and forests and returned several hours later with the fruits of her hunts._

_Whenever she smelled orcs or wargs coming anywhere near the borders of the Shire, she would track them down and slay them without mercy. The Rangers of the North tended to avoid her, and vice-versa, as they reached an uneasy truce. Their captain had seen a similar case to hers several years ago, and recognized Asta’s circumstances by the way she moved and spoke. Although they were wary of a werewolf nearby, they appreciated her help in protecting the Shire, and so long as she took no lives of the free people of middle earth, they found a way to live in tentative peace._

* * *

 

The snap of a branch in the woods nearby shook Asta from her trance and she shook her head slightly to clear it. Rising to her feet, she built up her dying fire and then stripped of her bloody clothes and boots. She opted to carry it all in a bundle as she walked the half mile to the small stream that flowed nearby, and proceeded to wash out as much of the foul smelling troll blood as possible. She also rinsed her teeth and mouth as best she could, before drinking the cool clear water. Once her clothing was clean, she brought it all back to her campsite, setting up a makeshift clothes-line near the fire to dry out her over-clothes while keeping a thin shift aside.

Asta set up her boots with the tops toward the flames, hoping they would be mostly dry by morning, having chosen to deal with slightly soggy boots rather than the stench of the trolls any longer. Once she had accomplished that, she wrung out the shift and prepared to put it on, wincing at the chill of the water, and dreading returning to the stream to clean her body next. She had wanted to get her clothing drying as soon as she could so they would be ready early the next morning, but now she had little excuse to put off bathing in the icy waters any longer.

She then tended to the little herd of ponies that she had acquired after slaying those trolls, ensuring that they had plenty of grazing ground for the night. In the morning she would herd them to the river, then release them into the wild. They were sturdy little ponies, and she had no doubt they would be able to survive. The werewolf was just glad she had slain the trolls before they could eat these little creatures. As a passing thought, she wondered if they had belonged to the farmer and his family that she had been too late to save. Although what use a small human family would have for sixteen ponies eluded her.

Asta had just resigned herself to leaving her camp to finally bathe when an intriguing scent hit her nose, and her head whipped around to sniff at the air. She grinned in a rather feral fashion when the owner of the scent was identified, then shifted in one swift movement and began her hunt. Not five minutes later, she was back in (mostly) human form contentedly gutting her kill by claw before dragging the large buck back to her campsite for cooking.

Surprisingly, the ponies showed no objection to either the giant wolf in their vicinity nor the smell of deer blood. That seemed rather odd, but the shifter supposed that after being captured by three monstrous trolls they wouldn’t be fazed by much. Of course, she had still been in her wolf form when she killed the trolls and drove the ponies before her to their current location, so that may have had something to do with it.

Once she had skinned the deer, it took only minimal time for her to cut the meat from the bones and set most of it up to cook as best as she could. Her cooking never had been amazing, but as she was the only one eating it, she could see no reason why that would ever be a problem. Never mind how often one side of whatever meat she happened to be roasting turned out rather rare and the other blackened. Meat is meat. Perhaps she should stop leaving cooking meals halfway through to scout around, or go and bathe, which of course is just what she did then.

Asta did put on her undergarment this time, letting out a low growl as the cold water still in the shift came into contact with her skin, and took off at a swift sprint for the stream. Once there, she stripped, hanging the garment on a low hanging tree branch, then leapt into the water. As she bathed quickly but efficiently, she found her mind returning to Bilba once again, as she remembered the hobbit’s reaction when her human guest turned out to be not all that human after all.


	2. Further Reminiscence

Asta built up her fire with more logs, hoping to take the somewhat lazy way and not have to stoke it again for the next hour or so. She gazed into the flickering light, after glancing over the ponies once more to ensure that they were well. Her pack instincts were strong within her, and although normally she would consider creatures like them prey, it seemed she had been alone for far too long. Thinking back, she remembered what Bilba’s reaction to her furry little problem had been.

_By the spring of the next year, her wolf had decided completely that Bilba was pack, and Asta was torn. She loved Bilba like a sister, but she had no desire to burden her any more than she already had, and knew she should leave before the hobbit could discover her secret. Should Bilba or any of her neighbors learn of it, Asta would doubtless be cast out, and perhaps that would reflect badly upon Bilba. The werewolf knew she owed the hobbit quite a lot, not the least of which was her life, and she was determined to spare the halfling any trouble if she could._

_Of course, mere minutes after her impulsive departure Bilba came home and discovered the note she had left, and followed the werewolf into the woods, prepared to demand an explanation. Once the shifter was within the relative privacy of the woods, she turned, reveling in the freedom the change brought, forgetting all her worries for just a moment of sheer bliss. Her timing being what it was, it was just then that Bilba emerged from the trees behind her and was hit with the sight of a four-foot-at-the-shoulder coal black wolf._

_Asta shifted back to her human form immediately, not wanting to frighten her friend further, and stammering profusely she desperately tried to explain. She found her voice had deserted her, as she was choked up with tears at the thought that her one friend would now hate her. Gasping several times, she held out her hands imploringly, begging the hobbit with her eyes to listen. “I... I can explain, I swear it Bilba! I would never hurt you, ever! I just didn’t want to tell you because... because I’m a monster, and I didn’t want you to hate me. I was a coward, and I am sorry... I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you...”_

_Her shaky voice trailed off, and the werewolf steeled herself for more rejection, hatred, and anger, and was shocked when instead, she was met by compassion and understanding. Bilba sat upon a fallen tree nearby and motioned Asta over as well, gesturing for her to sit beside the hobbit. The human did so cautiously, and told Bilba of how she had been infected by the warg’s attack and all that followed._

_The hobbit listened readily, and was horrified to learn of her family’s treatment of one so young, especially when she was not to blame. Bilba loudly stated that the werewolf was most certainly not a monster, and if she ever referred to herself as such again, she would make her small-talk with the Sackville-Baggins at every party for a year. Her ready acceptance and support upon learning of Asta’s true nature touched the werewolf’s heart, and she knew that the hobbit would forever have her undying loyalty._

_Asta thanked Bilba for all that she had done, but in the end had decided to move on anyway. As grateful as she was for everything, she did not wish to cause Bilba any dishonor should the other hobbits discover her condition. The two remained great friends, and the day she left the werewolf swore that should Bilba ever call on her for aid, she would answer if she yet drew breath, no matter the circumstances._

* * *

 

A fond smile crossed the werewolf’s face at that, knowing now that she had been rather dramatic at the time, regardless that she meant every word. Strangely enough, it was two years later and she felt unchanged entirely. She huffed slightly in irritation when she had to duck under the water to wash her hair, shivering from the chill of being fully submerged. She scrubbed off the foul smelling troll blood, caked-on dirt, and residual doggy scent that she was sure seemed to linger after transforming, although that may have been slight paranoia on her part.

After she was as clean as she could get bathing in an icy river with nothing but water, she clambered out, shivering slightly, and pulled on her shift again. She walked back to camp, warming up as she went thanks to her slightly higher than average body temperature, and pondered where she should head to next. Truth be told, she had nothing to do, nowhere to be, and no one to see save Bilba. It _had_ been several months now, she mused, perhaps it was time to pay her favorite hobbit, favorite _person_ , another visit, and make sure that she was safe and well.

On any other day, at any other time, the werewolf would not have been taken by surprise by much of anything. Her enhanced senses of hearing, smell, sight, and a certain sixth sense gave her a distinct advantage against being snuck up on. In any other situation, she would undoubtedly have noticed _something_ was amiss and acted accordingly. However, this night she was hungry, tired, and very sore from still-healing wounds after her bout with those trolls earlier, and her focus was far from acute.

Thus it was that the exhausted werewolf was looking down, lost in thought, and failed to notice that her campsite was no longer uninhabited. She simply walked back from the stream and strolled back into her campsite wringing out her hair over her shoulder. As she looked up from her hands, the sight that met her eyes caused her to freeze in complete and utter astonishment.


	3. The Trollshaws

Bilba was not having a pleasant evening. Those confounded dwarves Gandalf had somehow managed to convince her into joining on their mad quest were simply impossible! Right from the start when she had taken off running after them without so much as a single handkerchief, they had doubted her. It was only by Gandalf’s urging that she was able to come at all, since it seemed that the dwarves balked at the idea of putting a female of any race (barring tree-shaggers ahem, elves, that is) in danger of any kind. (Although she heard from Gandalf that most dwarrowdams fought as well if not better than their male counterparts, and were just as fierce in battle.)

            She was thoroughly fed up with being not-so-subtly mocked for her gentle mannerisms or her slightly fussy ways, or condescendingly coddled, and just overall being treated like a liability. The hobbit had just about lost all patience with her companions. Now Kíli and Fíli went off and lost _all their ponies_ while they were supposed to be watching them. They had _one job_! Then, in a stroke of brilliance, the young Durin princes had decided that instead of facing their uncle and coming clean, they should send in their official burglar to take a look at the last place they had seen the ponies. Meanwhile, they would rejoin the others to bring them in for backup, as the others had found a gave guessed to belong to the now-deceased trolls, and were currently digging through the gold and weapons.

            Somehow, the lads managed to convince Bilba, and she was hurried along through the forest until the three reached a stretch of ground that was horribly torn with what looked like massive claw marks. It was just then that the foul stench hit her nose, and she wrinkled it up in a vain attempt to dispel the reek. “Trolls” Kíli unhelpfully pointed out, gesturing to what looked like several scattered pieces of (fresh) troll corpses coated in dark, pungent, sticky blood.

            “But what could have done this to them?” Bilba whispered, horrified by the gore surrounding the area, and feeling a great deal of fear at the thought of a creature large and powerful enough to kill at least three mountain trolls. Those claw gashes did not look friendly.

“You see, that’s what we wanted you for, Bilba. You are, after all, our burglar!” Fíli’s smile was not encouraging in the slightest. “You are small and quiet, and can sneak in to look around without being caught by whatever did this! My brother and I are exemplary trackers, but stealth is not our strongest suit.”

Unfortunately, Bilba had to agree with that, and had somehow found herself sneaking through a destroyed troll camp with Kíli’s parting words running through her head. “It’s perfectly safe! If you get in trouble, just hoot once like a barn owl, and twice like a brown owl.” It wasn’t until she was in the middle of the blood-strewn ground that she realized she had no idea how to hoot like any kind of owl, and the young Durin princes were both out of sight.

“Confound and confusticate these dwarves!” she murmured to herself, completely exasperated, and not a little terrified. She remained in the shadows as much as she could, hoping that whatever creature had killed the trolls had not lingered. Then she saw a paw print that could only belong to a gigantic wolf, and two memories struck her in quick succession, leaving feelings of horror and terror from the former, and relief and confusion from the latter.

The first memory was that of Belladonna and Bungo succumbing to the Fell Winter, and of the wolves that had crossed the frozen Brandywine. The second, was of the strange (not entirely) human girl that she had met shortly after. She had been so strange, different from any of the Big Folk that Bilba had ever met in Bree. The girl had been terrified and expected a little hobbit lass to _kill_ her. Honestly!

But then, Bilba had learned of her family casting her out because they believed her to be cursed, and she thought of her own loneliness after the recent death of her parents, and offered Asta the chance to have a home for a little while. The next several months had been good for the both of them, Bilba believed, both reveling in the companionship, and she had begun to regard the human as another of her cousins, or perhaps even a sister, when she had come home to find a note saying she had left.

When the hobbit had learned of Asta’s lycanthropy, she had been shocked and felt not a little betrayed. Had not she proven she could be trusted? Granted, she had been terrified of anything to do with wolves and wargs after the Fell Winter, but clearly the human was not a full wolf. Many explanations later, they had remained friends, although Ismira had still left out of some misguided attempt to protect Bilba’s honor.

Snapping her mind back to the task at hand, Bilba looked more closely at the monstrous paw print, and her mind easily filled in the huge wolf standing there, dark blue eyes sparkling, towering well over the little hobbit’s head. While still slightly terrifying, the vision was also strangely comforting as well, and Bilba hoped desperately that it was indeed Asta who had done this, and not _something else_.

* * *

 

She knew not how long she had searched the little clearing for any further tracks, but unfortunately tracking much of anything was beyond the hobbit, and she gave it up as hopeless. She was about to turn back to try to find the others when they burst out from the trees behind her, Thorin in the lead.

His dark hair splayed wildly behind him, the exiled king sprinted to Bilba, a new, elvish looking sword in hand. His icy blue eyes surveyed the clearing swiftly, as he asked gruffly, “Where is the fell creature?” The hobbit was shocked by the rather abrupt entrance, and even more so when she was suddenly surrounded by dwarves encircling her protectively, weapons at the ready. When she was not immediately forthcoming with an answer, the dwarrow king turned to face her fully, anger and something else indefinable in his eyes. He repeated his terse query, eyes narrowed as he awaited an answer.

Bilba flinched slightly, but then set her shoulders and stood taller, facing off with Thorin. “I do not know, but whatever did this is no longer in the immediate vicinity. Perhaps one of your nephews can show off their _exemplary_ tracking skills and seek it out. I found only one paw print.” Once the dwarves moved enough for her to be able to move at all, she made her way over the patch of ground with the print, then stepped aside for her companions to observe it.

Kíli and Fíli, while both appearing eager to track down the maker of said paw print, remained back, shoulders hunched slightly. When Bilba glanced at them, they both offered her sheepish smiles, dipping their heads to her apologetically. Thorin graced them with a look that spoke clearly of his displeasure, and Bilba knew that they deeply regretted sending her into a potentially dangerous situation alone.

“It’s all right lads, just please don’t do something this foolish again” she said cheerfully, feeling quite a bit better now that she was safe amongst the dwarves again. Her earlier frustration with them quite forgotten, she found herself drawn in to a lively conversation with Bofur as Thorin and Fíli began to search beyond the paw print for the next track. The rest of the dwarves re-adjusted what supplies they had, and prepared to head out once the path was found. No one would rest easy that night until the creature was found, or determined to no longer be an immediate threat.


	4. Encounter

In less than a minute, Fíli looked up with a grin, gesturing his uncle over to his side. Upon the ground, more than five feet away from the original, was another massive paw print, covered lightly in dust and broken grass. Thorin clapped him upon the shoulder, and then gave the command to move out, taking the lead to follow the trail. Curiously, before the wolf tracks were the hoof prints of their missing ponies, giving the appearance that the creature had herded them before it.

The group of dwarves followed their exiled king willingly, trusting to his sharp eyes in the dark. Thorin may not have the best sense of direction, but when he was tracking, his skills were unparalleled, except perhaps by Fíli. Kíli was a decent tracker, certainly enough to find any game he shot, but he did not possess the skill level of his brother and uncle. Close to an hour later, Thorin stopped abruptly in surprise, motioning the others to remain silent, as they caught sight of a flickering campfire a short way ahead of them.

“Nori” the king spoke softly, gesturing the spymaster to his side. The thief nodded, and then drifted into the trees, disappearing effortlessly into the darkness. The remaining company waited in near-complete silence, broken only by the soft sound of footsteps from Dori’s pacing anxiously, as he waited for his brother’s safe return. Within minutes, the thief returned, puzzlement in his gaze. “The camp is deserted, and has been for at least a quarter-hour. The paw prints vanish in the brush, and there are human foot prints near to the campfire. There are also marks indicating a large body was dragged into the clearing, and an entire deer roasting, and burning, over the fire.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes in thought, but gave the signal to advance. The dwarves swarmed the camp, finding their ponies tethered near to the ring of light cast by the campfire. Seeing no need to let the roasting deer go to waste, Dwalin and Bombur pulled the carcass off of the spit, and began to carve it into smaller chunks. One side was burned, and the other raw, but once the two had salvaged as much of the burned side as they could, the remainder was placed back on the spit to be cooked properly this time.

The rest of the dwarves, assuming that the creator of the camp had fallen prey to the wolf creature, removed their packs and settled in, claiming the camp as their own. Ori, Nori, and Bofur were placed on watch, as they did not intend to be caught unawares should the wolf return.

            When several minutes pass, and nothing more sinister than a squirrel emerged from the trees, the dwarves relaxed slightly, and began to pass around slightly overcooked chunks of meat for supper that evening. All of the dwarves had dropped their guards, and judging by the calm state of the ponies, they assumed that the wolf creature had moved along to another area. While those on watch remained alert, they were no longer so tense, and so Ori missed it when there was movement in the trees in his sector.

            The Master Thief however, did not. Nori turned and signaled a warning in Iglishmek, at which all the dwarves turned toward the forest on that side, as the redhead pulled his younger brother behind him. They watched warily, weapons at the ready, prepared for anything. Or so they thought.

 

* * *

          

A human woman, perhaps twenty years of age, stood at the edge of the campsite, merely standing there in shock for a moment, before turning tail and sprinting in the opposite direction, seeming desperate to get away from the dwarrows. Before any of the dwarves could make a move, their hobbit had taken off after the stranger.

While the werewolf could have fought, she had no wish to bring any harm to any man, elf, dwarf, or hobbit, and so she ran. She had been called a monster and attacked by everyone who had ever found out her secret, except for Bilba, but in her fear, she did not register the hobbit’s scent. The only instinct driving her was that of flight; to get as far from the perceived danger as possible.

As soon as she took flight, the hobbit was after her, running shockingly fast for one so small, calling out her name. It registered after a minute, and gave the werewolf pause, when she finally heard the familiar voice. The instant recognition hit her, she spun on her heel and stared in surprise. “B-Bilba? Is that you?” The hobbit nodded, even as she slumped over, gasping for breath after the impromptu sprint. “Bilba! What on middle earth are you doing this far from the Shire?”

The werewolf was deeply concerned for her friend, hoping that her dark imagination was false in its assumptions as of to what could drive Bilba from her home. The hobbit smiled reassuringly, and said simply that she decided to go on an _adventure_. Asta smiled at that in return, greatly relieved that there was nothing wrong beyond the Tookish side of the hobbit emerging, and embraced her old friend happily.

Just then, Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Dori, and Bofur burst through the trees, having followed Bilba when she took off after the lone human. They misinterpreted the embrace, and, thinking that Bilba was under attack, closed in quickly. Kíli notched an arrow in a heartbeat and fired it directly into Asta’s shoulder. The werewolf started violently with the pain and shock, half-snarling, half howling in pain.

She snapped off most of the arrow shaft, and then whirled around quickly to face the newest threat, drawing her only remaining dagger on her person, and pushed Bilba behind her. The dwarves circled around them, surrounding the two and glaring fiercely at the werewolf. “Let her go human. If you have caused her any harm, you will face the wrath of Durin’s sons!” Thorin snarled at her, leveling his new elvish blade to her throat.

Asta snarled right back, viciously growling at the dwarf king, fully prepared to defend the hobbit at any cost. Bilba finally found her voice, laying a hand on the enraged werewolf’s uninjured shoulder and speaking to both dwarves and werewolf. “Please, stop this!” At her demand, they all stood still where they were, as none were willing to risk harm to the little hobbit.

The hobbit in question stepped forward then, directly before Thorin, and Asta made an aborted attempt to reach for her friend to bring her back to ‘safety’ behind her. Bilba shook her head, however, saying softly, “Trust me, my friend.” Wondering if this was to be her last night on this earth, the werewolf took a leap of faith and lowered her dagger from its defensive position, raising her hands in surrender.

Once the girl dropped out of her fighting stance, the dwarves relaxed slightly, although their weapons remained trained on her. Asta tensed, hoping they would not take advantage of her lowered guard, but made the decision to trust Bilba’s judgement, and dropped her knife completely, kicking it away for good measure. She then fell to her knees and placed her hands behind her head in a traditional ‘prisoner of war’ stance, placing herself entirely at their mercy. Her right arm was slightly askew, since Kíli’s arrow was still lodged in the flesh, but she made no complaint.

Finally, the dwarves lowered their weapons, although they remained on guard. When Thorin stepped toward the kneeling human, sword still in hand, Bilba quickly darted forward, standing between them in a mockery of the way Asta had tried to protect her shortly before. The werewolf growled softly, not wanting the hobbit to be in any sort of danger for her sake, but she was ignored.

Thorin paused, raising an eyebrow at the Halfling, and then spoke; “You know this human?” The hobbit nodded, “Yes, and I’ll thank you to put away your sword, Thorin Oakenshield. Unless you plan to attack an unarmed girl?” The dwarf king narrowed his eyes, but sheathed his blade nonetheless.

Asta spoke up then, albeit in a quiet and deliberately non-threatening manner. “Master Dwarf” she addressed Thorin respectfully, sensing him to be the dwarves’ alpha. When she spoke, all the dwarves trained their weapons upon her again, except for the king. He merely nodded permission for her to continue when she fell silent at the threat.

“Forgive me if I cause offence by this, but I would plead one request from you. Please, I beg thee, whatever wrong I have caused you, do not hold Bilba accountable. What issue you and yours” and here she gestured to the dwarves surrounding her, “have with me, please, leave her out of it.”


	5. Discussions

Thorin stared at her for a moment after the humble request, and then waved a hand, signaling his men to put away their weapons. They did so, although Dwalin appeared displeased, and Asta allowed herself to relax slightly. “Be at ease. Rise.” The dwarf’s gruff command startled her, and she flinched slightly before slowly lowering her hands from behind her head.

The other dwarves, who had been surrounding the hobbit and human, walked around now to stand behind their king. When Asta saw there was no negative reaction from the dwarrows to her lowering her hands, she slowly rose to her feet, glancing at Bilba for assurance. “You are not a prisoner” Thorin said then, “You but startled us by your sudden appearance at the camp, and now we only acted to defend our hobbit.”

“ _Your_ hobbit?” Bilba repeated, somewhat incredulously. “You are a member of my company, and are therefore under my protection” Thorin amended. Pacified, the hobbit stood down, and then turned to her apprehensive friend. “Asta, please allow me to introduce Fíli, Kíli, Dori, Dwalin, Bofur, and the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield. Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur, and Balin are all back at the camp.”

The werewolf’s eyes widened in surprise at the number of dwarves, and she felt fear beginning to flare within her again. Even fighting at her strongest, she doubted she would survive an attack by these dwarves. Size aside, she knew them to be fierce fighters. Although her own size promised nothing regardless, as she was barely pushing 5 feet herself (and that in thick leather boots with padded heels), and a couple of the dwarves, with their heavy boots, were close to the same height as she.

Eyeing the bald one, Dwalin, she wondered if he would be able to take her down alone. He certainly seemed powerful enough. Which begged the question, why was Thorin the alpha? While without a doubt a fierce warrior in his own right, it seemed that there would be some confusion as to who their leader would be, yet she sensed only an undying loyalty from all the dwarves, and not an ounce of jealousy for the position. Why?

She was shaken from her unrelated musings when the hobbit spoke again, good manners seeming to get the best of dear Bilba. “So sorry for intruding, by the way. Nori was sharpening your sword when last I saw him, so if you can get it back from him, perhaps that could begin to make amends for the way we overtook your campsite and chased you through the woods?”

Asta shook her head slightly, still standing as cautiously as she could, doing everything in her power to not appear as a threat. It didn’t seem to be working, judging by the glare she was still receiving from Dwalin. “Nay, my friend. No offense or harm was done, so no amends need be made. Still, I thank you for your consideration.”

Bilba looked at her rather askance, easily able to tell that her friend was extremely ill at ease, and suggested, “Well, shall we head back to the camp then?” Thorin nodded in agreement, and the dwarves began to go back the way they had come.

Asta remained still, watching them go curiously, as she wondered if she would truly be released that easily. To lose her sword, armor, and dinner was unfortunate, but nothing she could not recover from. It was very obvious that Bilba would be safe with these dwarves, and so that was one less worry the werewolf had to concern herself with. She had first thought that she would have to fight, talk, or perhaps deceive her way to freedom, and yet now the dwarves were just walking away without harming her? It seemed entirely too good to be true.

As it turned out, it _was_ entirely too good to be true. Dori, Bofur, Fíli, and Kíli had all disappeared into the trees, speaking of burned meat, and the girl couldn’t help a slight blush at that. It wasn’t as though she had planned on anyone else eating the deer! However, Thorin, Bilba, and Dwalin had yet to follow after them, and the werewolf found herself tensing up again. She may trust the hobbit with all of her being, but these two dwarves were the fiercest she had ever come across, in all her travels, and if they attacked she knew she would be hard-pressed to defend herself.

They all appeared to be waiting for something, and when nothing happened for a minute, Asta began to feel slightly concerned, as the beginning tendrils of panic took hold. What did they want of her? Was it not enough that the threat of the trolls were gone? That they had taken her camp, fire, armor, boots, weapons, and clothing? What more could she give them to secure her freedom?

“Bilba, perhaps you should return to the camp with the others.” The hobbit did not look at all pleased at the suggestion, but when Asta pleaded her to comply with her gaze, she relented. After Bilba begrudgingly followed the others, silence descended upon the trio once more. When another minute passed, and still no one had made a move to do much of anything, Asta finally took a step. Toward her fallen dagger. Which was nearly at the black-haired alpha dwarf’s feet.

Dwalin and Thorin both tensed up, the former reaching for his axes again, in case she should make a move to harm Thorin, but the king shook his head slightly, curious to see what the girl would do. She cautiously took two steps closer, then sank gracefully to her knees once again, picking up the dagger before presenting it, hilt first, over her arm.

The dwarrows furrowed their brows in unison, and in a different situation the similarity would be humorous. “Master Dwarf, I would ask that you let me go in peace. If you spoke truly earlier, and I am not a prisoner, then please release me without bloodshed. If you spoke as you did only to appease Miss Baggins, then I beg you, kill me quickly.”

That said, she bowed her head and waited for his verdict. ‘Twas not long in coming. “Rise, lass. We are not in the habit of slaying unarmed women without cause.” She glanced up, rising to her feet after a moment, utterly confused at their behavior, and finally decided to simply ask. “If you will not kill me, then what would you have of me? Why do you linger, instead of returning to your comrades at your camp?”

Dwalin spoke at that, seeming just as confused as she. “Ye surely did not think that we would leave ye out here by yerself again, did ye?” Clearly these dwarves were not on the same sheaf of parchment as she. “I am your prisoner, then? I do nae understand.”

“Nay, we mean for you to return to camp with us, but not as a prisoner, a...guest. Although since it would seem to have been _your_ camp first, perhaps we would be the guests. Ye did not think we would take your campsite, and all your belongings just to leave ye in the wilds by yourself?” Her silence was answer enough, it seemed. “Come on” the king commanded gruffly, taking the lead.

Asta glanced at Dwalin, gauging her chances if she made a run for it, but the look in the dwarf’s eyes did not bode well for her if she did anything save follow Thorin. Dropping her eyes, she quietly yielded, and followed the dwarrow with a heavy heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest thanks to everyone who has read, left kudos, and/or commented on this story. Your encouragement and support is much appreciated!


	6. Meeting the Company

            Walking back into what was once her little campsite felt like a death sentence. Many strange dwarrows sat near the fire, while others were seeing to the ponies, and still others were involved in a good-natured tussle to the side. Fíli and Kíli, her mind supplied; it appeared the blond was winning, although she could not recall if he was the one called Fíli or Kíli. Curiously, while all the dwarves, and even Bilba, gave the impression of a strongly-knit pack, these two smelled of kin beyond that of pack-mates. Brothers, perhaps? Then why did Thorin bear a similar scent? Was he their father?

            “Uncle!” the brunette cried out joyfully upon seeing their return, peeking out from under his brother’s arm. “Did you get lost again on your way back?” Both brothers smirked at that, and Asta was surprised to see the heretofore solemn dwarf who was an uncle, apparently, actually crack a smile. There seemed to be some jest that eluded her, although most of the dwarves appeared to be hiding smiles of their own at the jibe.

            Asta was surprised to find herself relaxing slightly when Dwalin came out from behind her, and went to a white-haired dwarf standing near the fire, who bore a startling resemblance to _Santa Nicholas_ , a fairy tale she recalled her mother telling her of at Yuletide many years ago. This dwarrow looked similar to the sketch her father had drawn, when getting into the story telling himself. A long, white beard, a rather round belly, crimson robes, and a kindly expression was granted the dwarf. She wondered if he made a habit of giving out gifts to well-behaved children at Mettarë .

            It was comforting to no longer have the fiercer dwarf out of sight behind her, and she quietly drifted along the shadowy outskirts of the camp until she found a place on a fallen tree that was as far from the dwarrows as she could get, save for a gray haired one with, was that an _axe_ in his _face_? “Master Dwarf” she inclined her head respectfully, and was greeted with a growling of what she guessed to be Khuzdul.

            Tilting her head to the side in a manner very reminiscent of the wolf that she was, she tried, “Apologies, but I do not speak Khuzdul sir. Can you not speak Westron?” He shook his head, but grinned at her nonetheless. “You can understand it, then.” Nodding, he spoke a bit more, and the werewolf couldn’t help but smile back at him slightly. Although she couldn’t understand a word he said, she could hear his steady heartbeat, and smelled no malice upon him.

            He talked for a while, gesticulating with his hands, in what she guessed to be a combination of Iglishmek, and just emphasis on some of his words. She knew not what he said, but his gruff growl of a voice soothed her wolf, and she decided that this was one she could consider an ally. After a few minutes of ‘conversing’, the dwarf leaned over casually and scooped up a handful of flowers from the ground, promptly devouring them.

            Asta’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, then she smiled and offered him a sprig of honeysuckle that had been behind her. He took it with another smile of his own, saying something that sounded like just more incoherent growls, but she took it to be thanks.

The movement had jostled her shoulder, however, and she was reminded of the arrow that remained in her flesh. She then eyed the gray haired dwarrow beside her, wondering if he would be willing to aid her, and so she asked, miming yanking it out at the same time. He nodded, and when she turned her back, he quickly pulled it out. Although the violent removal tore more flesh with it, the werewolf would heal swiftly now that there was nothing to impede the healing process.

She thanked him, to which he nodded and gestured, and then seemed to get distracted by an owl that swooped overhead. They sat for a few more minutes, speaking softly of whatever came to mind, when one of the dwarves that had tracked her earlier appeared before them suddenly, and Asta rolled backwards off the log on instinct.

            She landed in a crouch behind the log, forcing herself not to growl. The dwarf in the strange hat and her newfound friend both stared at her in surprise, before the latter growled something at the hatted dwarf, and began gesturing violently in Iglishmek. He appeared to be arguing, also in Iglishmek, and Asta tried to inch her way away from them both, but froze in her tracks when they both turned to her.

            “Easy lass, I meant no harm.” The dwarf had an easy and disarming smile, which he turned upon her, his eyes twinkling cheerfully. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but please don’t let that turn ye away. No harm done, no amends needing to be made, remember?” At that, the girl straightened, reluctantly smiling slightly herself at having her words turned on her like that. “Apologies, Master Dwarf. You startled me.”

            He dipped his head in acknowledgement, cheerful grin still firmly in place, but said, “Now, none of that ‘Master Dwarf’ nonsense lass. Please, call me Bofur. This is my cousin Bifur.” She bowed formally from the waist, and replied, “Asta, at your service.”

 

* * *

 

 

Contrary to his ferocity in times of danger, Bofur turned out to be the most cheerful, optimistic, happy-go-lucky creature to ever walk Middle-Earth. Asta found herself to enjoy his company just as much as his cousin’s, and now that they had an ‘interpreter’, the werewolf and dwarf were enjoying themselves immensely. For his part, Bofur seemed completely content to translate from Iglishmek to Westron and back again, and a light of gratitude shone in his eyes that the girl was treating his cousin with acceptance and friendship, as opposed to discomfort or fear at the rather gruesome wound he suffered from.

Well over an hour of friendly conversation later, the werewolf stretched, yawning widely, before smiling at both dwarves beside her. “I thank you both for your company this night. I enjoyed our conversations immensely.” Bifur, as she had learned to be the name of the floral eating dwarrow, said something rather short in Khuzdul, and made a quick gesture in Iglishmek. Bofur nodded his agreement, translating, “Aye lass, my cousin is right; the pleasure was all ours. Doubtless you will be wanting some supper, and then sleep?”

She nodded sheepishly, saying quietly, “If it isn’t too much trouble...” He just grinned, and offered her a hand up. “Oy Bombur!” he hailed the large redheaded dwarf standing at the fire, tending to the last of the meat. “Give us a plate then, would ye brother?” The werewolf raised an eyebrow, silently asking Bofur. He grinned wider in reply, “Aye, he’s my brother. I know, we look nothing alike. It would seem that I got all the handsomeness in the family” and this with a cheeky wink. Asta chuckled at that, laughing even harder at Bombur’s indignant huff.

“Just for that, _brother_ , ye can get yer own food. Here ye are, lass” and he handed Asta a large piece of the deer rump, perfectly well cooked. Seeing the choice cut, she looked at him enquiringly, and he actually scuffed one of his boots upon the ground, seeming somewhat embarrassed. “I was talking with Bofur for a bit earlier, and he told me how this was your camp, what we invaded, and I felt it was only right to make sure that you got some of the best, considering this was all yours originally.”

“I thank you, Master Bombur, it is greatly appreciated.” With a slight bow, she took the meat gratefully, and retreated back to the log, followed by Bofur after he swiped an entire haunch behind his brother’s back. “Learnin’ tricks from Nori then?” another of the dwarves yelled out upon seeing the theft. He also possessed fiery hair, although it wasn’t quite as memorable as the thief’s starfish shaped style.

Asta felt herself beginning to become dizzy at attempting to remember all the dwarves, and their names. “That there, that’s Gloin, and the older one next to him is his brother, Oin” Bofur said helpfully. “Then there’s Bifur, Bombur, and me. Those two over there” and here he gestured to the youngest looking dwarf with an adorable bowl-cut hairstyle, and a proper-looking white haired one fussing over him, “Are Ori and Dori. Their brother Nori is around somewhere, I’m sure, and watch your things with that one. There’s not an item in existence but that he can steal it right from under your nose, and return it in the same minute, all unnoticed.”

The werewolf nodded in thanks for the advice, then waved a hand slightly in Dwalin’s direction. “That’s Dwalin then, and the white-haired one beside him?”

“That’s Balin, his older brother. Kíli ye know, and Thorin, o’ course. Now where did Fíli go?” And he glanced around, but apparently the missing dwarrow would not be located so easily. Kíli, who turned out to be the dark haired brother, seemed completely content speaking with his uncle, giving no indication that he had even noticed his brother’s absence.

“Well, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” That said, Bofur flopped haphazardly back onto the log from before, beside his cousin. Asta sat beside Bifur, offering him a large portion of the meat in her hands, but he shook his head. “Leave it be, lass” Bofur offered, “He hasn’t had much of an appetite for meat since the wound.” She nodded in acceptance, and proceeded to eat quickly, devouring the food in less time than a hobbit would, which is saying quite a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to re-affirm to myself that I shouldn't ever attempt to draw, by attempting to draw Asta and Bifur. Needless to say, I failed epicly, but here is my attempt at showing this scene. http://sincorah.deviantart.com/art/Epson001-591785243?ga_submit_new=10%253A1455901751


	7. Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Independence Day to all! I hope everyone has a safe and happy 4th!

Yawning widely once more, Asta had to physically force herself not to permit her canines to elongate, though she yearned to. She rose then, thanking Bofur and Bifur for their time once more, before quietly making her way to Bilba’s side. The hobbit saw her coming, and turned from her conversation with Ori to give the werewolf her full attention. “Asta! I really am sorry for all the hullabaloo earlier. I didn’t think it through at all, but when I saw you running I just wanted to stop you and let you know it was safe.”

            Asta nodded calmly, then bowed slightly to Ori. “Master Ori, may I borrow Miss Baggins for a moment? I do hope I’m not interrupting anything?” The youngest of the Company blushed slightly and shook his head, replying quickly, “Oh not at all, miss. Certainly you may borrow Bilba. I mean, Miss Baggins. I...” here he trailed off and ducked his head shyly. The werewolf smiled gently at him, feeling herself mildly more at ease around this youngling than any of the other dwarves she had come into contact with so far.

            After the human and hobbit had gone out of earshot of the dwarves, but were still within sight of the camp, Asta spoke. “Bilba, I know that there is little time before one of your dwarves comes looking for you, but I would ask you to tell me the truth as you know it. Why did their alpha insist that I return to this camp with all of you? What do they hope to gain from me?”

            Bilba shook her head fervently. “No, no you have this all wrong! Thorin has not brought you here for selfish reasons. His honor simply does not allow him to leave an unarmed and defenseless woman alone in the wilds.” Sensing the girl about to argue, the hobbit held up a hand to forestall it. “I know better than most that you are far from unarmed or defenseless, but he does not. All he knows is that he found a frightened woman alone in the forests near to a place where a creature powerful enough to tear apart three mountain trolls was roaming, and he would not leave you here.”

            She continued, “Doubtless, he will insist that you remain with the company until we reach the next settlement with humans or elves, and leave you in their care. He would do no less, fearing the danger of the creature that still roams free. While we speak of it, please tell me that that ‘creature’ was you? Or someone, perhaps some _thing_ that you know?”

            Asta nodded in confirmation, only partially paying attention to the question. It would seem that the dwarrows remained unaware of her ‘condition’. They had no ill intent, nor hidden agendas. At least, none that Bilba knew of. The hobbit’s heartbeat had remained steady, and she did not smell of anxiety or fear, so Asta was certain that she had not lied.

            Accepting that she would not be ‘allowed’ to leave the dwarves until they believed her to be safe, she followed the hobbit back into the camp, and then curled up on the ground near to Bilba’s bedroll. She gazed into the still-flickering fire, her eyes reflecting the light back, as most of the dwarrows around them settled in for the night themselves.

* * *

 

            The sound of heavy footsteps warned the werewolf of the approaching dwarf long before she turned her head to confirm it with her eyes. Bofur strolled toward her, with her previously-missing bedroll and clothing tucked under his arm. “Hello again lass!” he exclaimed cheerfully, “I couldn’t help but notice that ye were planning to sleep on the bare ground, and since these were yours to start with, perhaps ye should make use of them again?” She smiled thankfully at him, accepting the bundle with a nod, and then followed him with her gaze as he headed back toward his brother and cousin on the opposite side of the fire.

            Fíli and Kíli were on watch by now, the brothers speaking quietly, and grinning over at the fussy white-haired one, Dori, every few minutes. Asta watched them sleepily, wondering if their mischievous air and mannerisms had anything to do with the several minutes the blond had been missing earlier in the evening. They certainly smelled of excitement and anticipation, and sure enough, not a minute later, the older dwarrow leapt to his feet with a yell, and jumped around a couple times. Soon, a harmless garden snake slithered out from his bedroll and disappeared into the brush.

            The brothers keeled over with laughter, leaning on each other in an attempt to stay upright. Raising her head slightly, the werewolf cocked her head in curiosity. She knew them to be fierce warriors in their own right, having seen how expertly they wielded their weapons, and feeling a phantom pain where the arrow wound from Kíli’s bow would have been. How did they change from dangerous, mature fighters to seemingly innocent and immature pranksters so easily?

            She felt vaguely uneasy then, wondering if their mischievous actions were a ploy, for some unknown sinister purpose. There was genuine lighthearted joy in their eyes, however, and she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they were simply young both at heart and in body, and the fierce warriors were but a mask they put on when it became necessary. She then looked around at all the dwarves in a new light, wondering who they were inside, beyond what their harsh circumstances had forced them to be.

            Even their gruff, intimidating king must have a story, a reason he was always so concerned and protective of his men beyond that which would be a natural reaction of an alpha to a threat against his pack. Or, that of a leader concerned with the safety of his men. She knew that if she were to conceal her true nature, she must become accustomed to speaking as they did. Still, it was difficult to see the world fully from either side, human or wolf. The two seemed to mesh together and thus caused her to interact in many situations more like an animal than most humans would.

            Although the ever-present fear of discovery remained with her, logically she knew that her condition was so rare that for most it was merely a legend; tales to tell small children of the horrible monsters that walked disguised as Men. Asta, having been raised in Gondor, and lived in the West, did not know if the Dwarves and Elves had similar legends. She had asked Bilba, once, and been told that hobbits had stories, but did not believe them to have any base in truth. Thus, the werewolf was hopeful that the chances of the dwarves finding out her secret were slim.

            She watched in sleepy contentment as the silver-haired Dori berated Fíli and Kíli for their prank, even as his younger brothers chuckled at him. All the other dwarves appeared to be sleeping, most snoring loudly. Seemingly content with his lecture, Dori then turned and told off Nori and Ori for laughing at him, before settling in to sleep as well.

            With all but the brothers on watch asleep, Asta was surprised to find herself restless. Her wolf roused within her, and an urgent need arose to make certain that everyone in the group was safe for the night. Her instincts startled her. When had she begun to recognize the dwarves as pack? Bilba, perhaps, could be considered a pack-mate, so maybe her wolf had decided that since Bilba was pack to Asta, and the dwarves were clearly pack to Bilba, she needed to ensure that _all_ of _her_ pack were safely settled in for the night.

Allowing her animal instincts to take hold of her, she rose silently to her feet. Pacing to the outskirts of the camp, she stopped for a moment when she heard movement behind her. Turning, she found the older brother, Fíli, standing nearby with an eyebrow raised in query. “Going somewhere?” he asked softly.

            She bowed slightly, knowing that as kin to the alpha, Fíli and Kíli would be high in the ranks of this pack. “I need to relieve myself, Master Dwarf. You have my word I will return before a quarter of an hour has passed.” The blond warrior nodded, accepting her excuse, and returned to his brother’s side. The werewolf continued into the woods, and then doubled back, walking a circle around the camp, just out of sight of the two on watch. She stepped silently, making herself completely undetectable, even to the sharp sight and hearing of the young dwarves.

            As she traveled around the group, she counted them in her head, cataloguing them as safe and together. Her wolf rumbled happily within her, glad that this temporary pack of hers was safe. However, once she had made a full circle, she realized that her count was one dwarf short. There were ten sleeping dwarrows in various locations, one sleeping hobbit right where Asta had left her, and the young brothers on watch. One dwarrow was missing, and when she realized who it was the werewolf tensed up. _Where was the alpha?_


	8. The Maiar

Asta immediately surrendered herself to her wolf in every sense save physically, although if one was to catch sight of her eyes they would be glowing faintly, even in absolute darkness. Extending her senses, she absent-mindedly noted and memorized the individual scents of the dwarrows nearby, even as she focused on locating Thorin. In a moment, she relaxed, and all the tension in her body drained out of her. There was a tell-tale heartbeat several yards behind the brothers on watch, which did not belong to any of the sleeping dwarves.

            Padding quietly around the clearing undetected once more, she traversed a bit deeper into the trees this time, and came across the dwarven alpha. He stood, facing away from the camp, with his arms crossed behind his back, staring pensively into the darkness beyond. Asta remained behind him, hidden, and merely observed him for a time. Many worries and sorrows weighed down his heart; that much was clear from his body language, and the wolf was struck with a longing to learn what tragedy had struck this dwarrow to affect him so.

            She was grateful, at the least, that his nephews did not seem to be similarly affected; although many of the older dwarrows, the one called Balin especially, appeared to have suffered similarly. The wolf stood still for several moments more, simply watching the dwarf, but when his shoulders slumped slightly and he sighed heavily, she quickly turned tail and returned to the camp, emerging from the opposite direction.

            From near the campfire, Fíli nodded acknowledgment to her return, at which she bowed slightly. She silently made her way to Bilba once again, and curled up on her bedroll, watching the trees behind Kíli and Fíli. Soon enough, Thorin emerged from the trees, and walked over to his own bedroll, placed on the outskirts of the camp. Asta waited until he had laid down, closed his eyes, and his heartbeat and breathing slowed and steadied enough to indicate sleep. Only then did the wolf relax her guard, confident now that all the pack was safe, and she drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

           

Asta was startled awake a few hours later by _singing_ of all things. Bilba had risen without disturbing her sleep, and was now standing beside Bofur and Nori by the ashes of last night’s campfire. The two dwarrows were singing a light-hearted tune softly in the early light of dawn, as they appeared to be setting out what remained of the deer for breakfast. Bilba stood beside them, smiling peacefully as she tended a little fire a short distance from the ashes of the old one. Upon the fire a tin tea kettle was boiling, and the hobbit appeared quite content.

The other dwarrows began to awaken, as the singing became deliberately louder and more obnoxious. Fíli and Kíli groaned loudly and protested the early morning, but the rest of the dwarves seemed more or less indifferent to the time of day. Once everyone was up, they packed up their things quite quickly, snatching bits of meat here and there interspersed with their own provisions for an impromptu breakfast.

They had everything just about ready when Asta swung around, staring intently into the trees in the direction the trolls had been. Bilba noticed first, and quickly made her way to the girl’s side. “What is it, Asta?” she whispered, concerned. The werewolf’s eyes were wide, and her nose flared slightly as she tried to place the scent. “I do not know, my friend. I hear a single heartbeat, and the frequency and intensity would indicate a Man, but the scent is... off. Neither does it smell of elf, dwarf, or hobbit though, and it is no foul creature of the dark. It seems almost, _angelic_ , if there were such a scent, yet it is mixed with that of Men.”

Bilba tilted her head in confusion, before her expression cleared and she exclaimed brightly, “Gandalf!” The werewolf just stared at her, completely lost. “What is a Gandalf?”

“Not what, who. Gandalf is a wizard, a maiar, which could explain the ‘angelic’ scent.” The hobbit chuckled slightly at the wording. Asta just shook her head. “I knew not how else to describe it. I have never smelled the like.” By now, she could hear light footsteps as well as the heartbeat, and she knew that this _wizard_ was approaching. “Bilba,” she whispered urgently, suddenly realizing what could happen if this was indeed a wizard. “Will he know? Will he be able to discover what I am? Will he kill me? I cannot fight magic!” She knew that she was panicking, but honestly, how could one be prepared for a _wizard_ of all things?

            The hobbit’s concerned expression was not helping anything. “I don’t know, Asta. I have little doubt that he would be able to ascertain your condition, but I don’t think that he would kill you. Not if he didn’t think you a threat.” A soft humming was now discernible, and the werewolf forced back her fight or flight instinct. The dwarves had, by this point, realized there was something wrong, and Fíli and Kíli were already making their way over to the two, with concern writ upon their features. Just then, from out of the trees, a tall figure in gray robes emerged from the forest, still humming under his breath. The brothers stopped in their tracks and instead turned to the wizard with identical grins.

            “Gandalf” Thorin spoke up then, sounding strangely content and almost relieved that the wizard had returned to them. “Where have you been, if I may ask?” The wizard and the dwarf conversed for a time, and the werewolf tuned them out, struggling not to lose herself to her panic. A kind voice nearby broke her from her thoughts. “And who might you be?” It would seem the wizard had found her. “My name is Asta, sir. I traveled these woods alone for these past weeks, and I came across this pack...ah, _group_ of dwarves yesterday evening. They generously _offered_ me protection and I accepted.”

            While she spoke, Gandalf studied her closely, the maiar’s eyes narrowed as he observed her, and then his eyes widened in surprise. “Scieppan-wulf” he murmured quietly. Asta nodded warily, wondering if he would take issue with that. Would he kill her for being _scieppan_ , a shape-shifter? He then smiled, of all things, and bowed slightly to her, introducing himself as Gandalf the Grey, at her service. The werewolf’s eyes widened in shock, having never been shown an inkling of respect from any who knew who and what she was (Bilba the sole exception). She bowed in return, lower than he had, and replied respectfully, “Asta, ever at your’s and your kin’s.”

            Gandalf smiled at her, eyes twinkling, and muttered something to himself about something called a ‘Beorn’, although the word held no meaning that the werewolf understood. The wizard then turned to Bilba, holding out a small sword and trying to convince the hobbit to take it. Shamelessly eavesdropping, Asta discovered that Gandalf had traveled with their group from the Shire, and had broken off with them shortly before she had killed the trolls. He had returned, to find the dwarves gone and the remains of three mountain trolls in a clearing nearby. The wizard had found the same cave they had, and emerged with a sword of his own, similar to the one Thorin now wore. He had also found an old elvish dagger, which was what he was now attempting to give to Bilba.

            As they argued, Asta had quickly packed her own belongings, finding that her cuirass and sword had been mysteriously returned in the night. Glancing over at the Master Thief, Nori, she could see small, smug smile on his face, and she was grateful for Bofur’s advice the evening before. At least the spymaster had returned the items, and she was rather impressed despite herself at his skill.

            It seemed Bilba had finally been convinced to accept the little sword, and, as everyone was by then packed and ready to go, Thorin gave the command to move out. Gandalf rode a horse, but there were sixteen ponies only, and two of them were so laden with supplies they could not take a rider. There was a slight dilemma as to where Asta would go, but she solved it by giving her pack into Gandalf’s keeping, and then adjusting her boots so that she was prepared for a long distance run in human form. The dwarves wanted to protest, several offering her their own ponies, but Gandalf and Bilba stood behind her decision.

Gandalf said something cryptic along the lines of, “There is much more to this human than meets the eye. I am more than certain that she will have ease keeping pace with us.” And it seemed that that settled the matter. They moved off then, continuing on their journey to the Lonely Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick end note, there is sadly no dictionary that I have found containing English to Westron. Bearing this in mind, I tried to use a form of Old English as a term for shape-shifters that, to the dwarves at least, would not be blatantly obvious. My apologies if it is a horrendous screw-up of a beautiful language. Unfortunately, I am no more fluent in Old English than I am in Westron, so please bear with me :)


	9. Wolf vs. Warg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this chapter, but to make it up, have a slightly longer than usual chapter! This is where we see a bit more PoV from the 'wolf' more so than the 'were' :)

Contrary to the dwarves’ expectations, the Company made excellent time in spite of one of their number, and the _female_ at that, being on foot. Traveling swiftly through the trees and fields, Asta effortlessly loped alongside Bifur’s pony, with the grizzled dwarf grumbling along contentedly in Khuzdul. Although Bofur and Gloin appeared to be immersed in some kind of discussion, and therefore there was no translator for Asta and Bifur, they still enjoyed each other’s company.

Bilba had been drawn into an intense conversation with Gandalf, and so the werewolf had dropped behind a bit, and then run forward once more to come up between Bifur and Balin. The old advisor seemed content to ride in silence beside them, listening to their very different conversations, but occasionally when Bifur would become very intense, wishing for Asta to understand something, Balin would translate for them. For the most part, however, all was serene and peaceful.

Until that peace was shattered as Asta jumped slightly in surprise, Thorin noticing immediately and barking out, “Something’s coming!” The dwarves quickly dismounted, being far more used to fighting on foot, and held their weapons at the ready, the ponies meandering a slight distance away nervously.

Several large rabbits pulling a strange contraption burst out from the trees directly ahead of the group. “Thieves! Fire! Murder!” an odd, short man dressed in ragged brown robes and a hat similar to Bofur’s cried out, leaping off the sleigh. Asta’s eyes widened at the scent of the man, animalistic and warm, but with a similar feel to that of the Maiar already traveling with them. It must have been another wizard. Gandalf spoke with him for a moment, confirming her suspicions, but the wolf was distracted. In the distance, she heard a sound that left her frozen, numb with shock and fear. Howling. Just a few short miles away, a pack of wargs began to close in, chasing the scent of the dwarves.

* * *

 

Radagast, as the newest wizard was apparently called, was warning the dwarves and Gandalf of an evil that had befallen Arda, something that came of Dol Guldor. The ‘necromancer’, whatever or whoever it was, sounded to be extremely dangerous, if it had the two wizards concerned so greatly. However, she was much more concerned with the shrieks and howls she heard coming from the wargs closing in. By now, she could also tell that there was an orc pack with them. She then heard the ponies snorting and stomping nervously, and she tried to give a warning to her pack, but a warg scout beat her to it. A howl came, from close enough that even the dwarves were able to hear it, and Bilba asked, frightened, “Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out here?”

Bofur shook his head, only half paying attention, replying, “Wolves? No, that was not a wolf.” A large, mutated monstrosity then appeared over the ridge above the group, and leapt down toward Thorin. The warg was quickly struck down as several dwarves attacked it, and then another quickly leapt toward the group. Kíli immediately shot it, killing it instantly. The dwarven alpha barked out, “Warg scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

Bilba repeated, incredulously and nervously, “Orc pack?” She was ignored, as Gandalf stepped toward Thorin almost angrily, and demanded, “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?” Thorin, confused, replied, “No one.” The wizard snarled and demanded again, more insistently, “Who did you tell?” Thorin replied gruffly, “No one, I swear! What in Durin’s name is going on?”

The wizard’s reply sent a shiver down the spine of the werewolf when he replied to the alpha, “You are being hunted.”

 

* * *

 

In the confusion that followed, when they discovered their ponies had bolted, none of the dwarves, hobbit, or wizards noticed that they were one human short. Radagast was quite distracted with leading the wargs and orcs away, and the Company was following Gandalf as quickly as they could. Across the plains, hiding behind outcroppings of rock as they went, the dwarves and Bilba struggled to keep up with the swift Maiar. Asta, meanwhile, had bolted herself as soon as the dwarves were made aware of the threat. Racing into the trees in the direction the howls had been coming from, the girl only had time to think quickly that it was indeed good luck that by happenstance she had left her armor and arms in the wizard’s care, before shifting in mid-run, heedless of her now destroyed clothes.

Shaking her head to catch her bearings, the wolf tossed back her head and howled, long and loud, as a clear challenge to those who dared even _consider_ harming her pack. The vicious, cold-blooded sound gave pause to the dark creatures that hunted the dwarves, but it did not halt them. The group went after the dwarves, pausing only when Radagast burst out and provided a closer target, which most followed. They were fast, but the werewolf was faster. She caught up to the first group in moments, quickly tearing through their ranks.

The orcs, not expecting an attack from the rear, and certainly not from an animal, were ill prepared to deal with her, which would be their undoing. She saw red, completely releasing all remaining vestiges of humanity, and gave herself over completely to the wolf.

 

* * *

 

Blood, pain, and fear were some of her favorite scents. The scent of prey, and of warm meat to fill the belly after a good hunt. **_Rip_.** A throat was torn clean through, as another of the furry beasts that looked like they should be pack but smelled of _rivals_ fell to her fangs. **_Slash_**. The soft, unprotected belly rent in two by her claws. The joy of a challenge, a good hunt! Soon, the pack-not-pack turned on her, beginning to fight together, and she paused just long enough to howl in bloodthirsty joy at the fight.

Too long had the strange one, the soft one, held her back, made her hunt only for the small fur-rat-tree or the ears-tail-hop creatures. The most challenging prey she had hunted in nearly a year was a large-tan-fur-claw-cat who had come too close on a moon-night. A ‘cougar’, according to the soft one. The strange one in her head called herself a ‘human’, and they shared a body. Often when she was hunting, the strange one would pull her back, force her away from certain prey. Once, the soft one had even pulled her back completely, on a _moon night_ , for fear of harming her own small-soft-pack member. Her only pack member. She knew pack, but the strange one, the human, did not believe her to be safe. She would never harm small-soft-pack, _Bilba_ , as the human called her, but she could not communicate that to her mind-pack-mate.

Fur and blood filled her mouth, and she growled happily as she tore through yet more flesh, easily outmaneuvering and destroying the dark creatures. The human was quiet, for once, and even encouraging for her to continue her successful hunt. Soon, despite fighting as one against a pack, all those who had fought lay dead at her paws. Her head whipped up, as she caught a very intriguing scent, and she followed it curiously. Crouching, she loped easily and stealthily nearer, only to stop in surprise as she caught sight of several ear-tail-hop creatures that were much larger than any she had hunted before. Were they prey?

She began to stalk them, curious, when her human began to fight, trying to take back control, warning the wolf of a ‘wizard’. She glanced at the strange wood-skeleton-box attached to the ear-tail-hop creatures, and wondered if it was a wizard. Then she noticed the human-not-human standing on it, staring at her. He did not smell of fear, and thus did not smell of prey. She cocked her head, curious, and stalked a bit closer. _Not prey._ Her human said, very firmly. _Wizard. Radagast. Pack-friend._ Pack-friend? He was not one of hers. She sniffed, circling the wizard and large ear-tail-hop creatures, but could find no scent of pack upon them. Human was mistaken. _Not mistaken. Pack-friend. Gandalf. Bilba._ Gandalf? A memory not her own came, of another human-not-human, who smelled like this wizard. Gandalf was a pack-friend to Bilba, so perhaps this Radagast was pack-friend to Gandalf?

Human hierarchies were entirely too complicated. Satisfied that the wizard was not a threat to her pack, and the ear-tail-hop creatures were not prey, the wolf turned to the lingering scent of the dark pack-not-pack, and began to track the second group that had branched off from the first. The scent-trail led her out further from the trees, into the midst of the open plains. Behind her, Radagast and his not-prey creatures began to leave, drawing off a third part of the dark pack that she had not noticed. Growling, she wanted to turn back and finish them off, but she had already caught the scent of _her_ pack, and they smelled of fear and distress. While those smells were excellent on prey, her pack should never smell of anything but safety and contentment, and she whined unhappily at her failure to protect her pack.

She loped easily along, following the scent of her pack, and gaining speed as she ran. The grass began to blur beneath her feet, even to her sharp eyes, and then she stopped abruptly, when she heard a dying loud-not-pack-rider cry out. Her head swiveled, and she caught sight of her pack up against a large chunk of rock, several of the betas finishing off the beast that had come too close to the alpha. She chuffed in contentment that they were unharmed, and she could detect no scent of pack-blood. Running a bit closer, she heard the other wizard, Gandalf, cry out in the human tongue. Her pack followed him, and she turned her head curiously to one side. Why did the alpha permit this wizard to command his pack?

The wolf eyed the sad remains of the dark pack hungrily, but when her own pack ran down into an ears-tail-hop creature’s hole, she quickly followed, and found that the hole was quite a bit larger than those that she usually hunted lived in. Did this belong to the not-prey creatures with Radagast? The voice of one of the betas of the pack, _Bofur_ , her human supplied, cried out something quickly in the human tongue, and the whole pack ran after him.

The werewolf was tempted to turn back, knowing she could easily catch up with her slower pack members after hunting down more of the creatures, but then a strange horn sounded and she whined, uneasy at the sudden rage emanating from her pack, and she dropped her head and followed them, remaining unseen and unnoticed at the urging of her human. The mind-pack-mate was worried that her pack would turn on her if they saw her. Which was of course utterly ridiculous. Pack does not attack pack. Her pack would no more attack her than she would attack her pack.

Perhaps the human was worried about the alpha? She was new to the pack, and had not yet formally submitted to his authority. Being an omega, without a pack, she had been far weaker and slower in the past. Now that she identified with a pack, she could already tell that she was swifter of paw and stronger to strike. Living with a pack was good, right. Too long had her human hidden her away, keeping her alone. No longer, now that she had a pack of her own.

As to her formal submission to the alpha, she had yet to be presented with an appropriate opportunity. Her human kept a very tight control over her whenever she could, and when she could finally escape the human, it was only for very short periods of time, when the moon called loudest. Even now, she felt the pull in her mind, of the human trying to take their body back. While none of her new pack could shift, the one-shapes were still more of a pack than any she had had before, and she was determined to keep them. If yielding to the authority of an alpha one-shape was what it took, she would do so gladly. The human still gave off a sense of fear, however, and the wolf was sure that it was because they had not submitted as of yet. Hiding in the shadows would do nothing to remedy that, however, and she remained confused as to the ways of one-shapes.


	10. Imladris

Asta shifted back in the darkness of the caverns as soon as her wolf relinquished control. She stumbled a bit, unused to having exerted herself so completely during a shift, but was able to catch her balance. Any remaining clothes she may have had were now scattered across the plains above her head, and she knew that her only other garments were her cuirass and leg greaves. Although nudity hardly bothered her, being a natural part of her life by this point, the girl felt very uncomfortable wearing nothing in the presence of so many others. She quickly removed the foul-smelling rags from an orc corpse that had tumbled into the cavern, and donned them haphazardly. Although much too large, and covered in a stench that would have caused her great discomfort even if she only had the scent capabilities of a normal human, it would have to do until better garments could be found.

She hurried to catch up with the group, not having any idea of how to explain her absence, but soon found that she did not have to worry. The dwarves were focused solely upon getting as far from the orcs, wargs, and Mahal forbid it-elves, as they possibly could. The werewolf was easily able to blend in behind the others, even with her strange garment, and it seemed as though she had been right behind them the whole time. Gandalf led them through the caves for a short time, and when they emerged, Thorin shot the wizard such a glare that Asta flinched back, even though it was not aimed even remotely in her direction. Stretching out before them lay the Last Homely House, domain of Lord Elrond and his folk.

 

* * *

 

Getting into Imladris was easy, especially as it seemed that most of its inhabitants were missing. A lone elf came down a sweeping staircase to meet the group, greeting Gandalf in a friendly and welcoming manner. The dwarves, however, were clearly extremely uncomfortable, and felt themselves to be in enemy territory. Asta had to agree. She had always done her best to steer clear of the Fair Folk, finding them nearly as swift and strong as she, and she knew that if they had ever tried to attack her, even if it was only one or two, she would have to shift to survive. If it came to that, the likelihood of the attackers surviving was very slim, and then she would find herself hunted by an entire race seeking vengeance for the death of one of their own. Therefore, she had merely decided it safest to avoid Elf-kind altogether, which she had been successful at up until now.

The werewolf kept her head down and hunched her shoulders, finding herself hiding from the elf’s piercing gaze behind Dwalin’s broad shoulders. She felt safer than she had in months, surrounded by her new pack, even in enemy territory. It was at that moment, when the dwarves shifted from enemies or friends of her pack-mate to her own pack, to her as well as her wolf, that she realized that she would no longer wander the forests alone. If they would have her, she had found herself a pack, permanently. Although she still did not know where they were heading, or what they planned to do once they reached their destination, the wolf decided then and there she was with them, for better or worse.

This realization and subsequent decision hit her hard, and distracted her from the approaching hoof beats until the dwarves had also registered them, and quickly pushed herself and Bilba into the center of the group with the dwarves facing outward, weapons ready. It would seem that the missing inhabitants of Rivendell had returned.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the hunting pack of Imladris had returned, Gandalf had stepped forward and greeted the elven alpha, identifying him as Lord Elrond. The werewolf’s nose flared slightly at the strange scent of the elves that she had been puzzling over since arriving in their territory and meeting the pack emissary, Lindir. They smelled of scents she had never imagined living creatures capable of producing from their essence, of the sea, forests, and stars. However, she was distracted by the increasingly potent stench of anger, hatred, and strong distrust emanating from the dwarves of her pack.

Her alpha, in particular, reeked of rage and disgust at their impromptu hosts, and the wolf allowed a very low, deadly growl to grow in her throat in response. Anything that could so unsettle and distress a powerful alpha with such a large pack at his disposal sat ill with the wolf. Regardless of her senses telling her that these elves were not an immediate threat, it was very clear that they could be very, very dangerous when they so desired, if the orc blood still dripping from their weapons was any indication.

Meanwhile, the elf lord had begun to speak, addressing first the wizard, and then her pack in Sindarin. When he fixed his ancient, piercing eyes upon them, Asta felt herself move forward protectively, running on instinct. Her wolf snarled and snapped viciously within her, fighting to get out and take control. **_Danger! Threat to pack! Not our territory!_** With great difficulty, Asta managed to fight her back, retaining control, and looked up to find many of the elves eyeing her warily, clearly having heard the ‘human’ growling.

She cursed herself for having become so complacent, accustomed to the less extensive hearing of the dwarves. The wolf knew she should have remembered that, Maiar aside, the most dangerous light creatures to walk Arda were the Fair Folk. They were also the most likely to discover who and what she was, which it would seem had just happened. When their alpha, Lord Elrond, turned his gaze to her as well, Asta tensed, shifting into a very slight crouch, still standing in the midst of the dwarves with Bilba, but challenging the elf with her eyes to dare harm one of her pack nonetheless.

He did not, however, respond in violence as she might have expected. Instead, he smoothly continued his conversation with Gandalf, which had not once faltered while all else had been occurring. When the wizard translated Lord Elrond’s generous offer of food, nearly all of her pack dispersed in acceptance, though the alpha, Bilba, and one of the betas remained behind. _Talin? Malin? Dwalin’s litter mate... Balin? I think it’s Balin._ Lord Elrond turned from the remains of the pack that stood before him, and spoke sharply to Gandalf in Quenya.

Asta raised an eyebrow slightly at that, surprised that her understanding of the Sindarin dialect was so immediately detectable, and fought back her frustration that she could understand precious little Quenya. She had been fortunate indeed that the Rangers she had encountered throughout the years had no quarrel with her kind, beyond their initial wariness. It seemed that many were close comrades with certain inhabitants of Rivendell, and as a result most if not all Rangers of the North who counted themselves Dúnedain spoke Sindarin. Many a cold night she had traded a slain rabbit or deer for the warmth of the fire of a ranger or two, and they often taught her words or phrases at her request.

Over the years, she had learned more than enough to piece together the common greeting and phrases that the wizard and elf lord had exchanged, but her knowledge of Quenya was all but nonexistent. Clearly Lord Elrond had heard word of a scieppan living near to his borders at times from Rangers who passed through, else Asta doubted she would still be living. She eyed the bows of those remaining in the elven hunting party uneasily, knowing that while her reflexes would allow her to catch at least two arrows, and dodge three more; with over fifteen archers easily at hand, she did not believe she would survive an attack.

Now as Elrond and Gandalf continued to converse, their voices grew more and more agitated, and she felt the fur- _hair_ , it was only hair, on the back of her neck prickle in fear. Finally, she dared to step forward, standing directly before the Elf Lord, tuning out the threatening gazes of his guard, and dared to speak. “Lord Elrond, I would beg of thee a word, in private.” Although the remaining dwarves, Bilba, Gandalf, _and_ the elves remaining in the vicinity suddenly emitted scents of displeasure and concern, Lord Elrond did not seem to notice. He caught her gaze, studied her intensely for a moment, and then nodded in acquiescence.

“So be it, scieppan,” he murmured, barely loud enough for her enhanced hearing to catch. “However, know that if you attempt to harm me you will not survive.” The werewolf nodded her understanding, hiding her fear, and followed the elf up through several levels of stairs and passages. The other elves had dispersed to Yavanna knows where, but Gandalf and the three members of her pack came with her, until they reached an area where none would overhear them. Then Lord Elrond bade them stay, but took Asta through another doorway, out of earshot of the dwarves and hobbit.

“Now, what business does a skin-walker have in Imladris?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is crap, plain and simple. It seriously should probably be deleted, but I needed a filler here. Hopefully the pace will pick up again within the next couple!


	11. You Will Not Take My Pack From Me

“Lord Elrond...” she began, and then balked, unsure of what she could say to convince him that she was no threat to anything or anyone that was not pack or prey. None under shelter of the Last Homely House would qualify as either, it seemed, but how was she to convince the Lord of Rivendell?

She lowered her eyes, tilting her head to the side slightly to bare her vulnerable throat to what she perceived as an alpha, considering she was in his territory, and attempted to look harmless. “That is unnecessary,” his voice was gentler than she had heard it yet, and she glanced back up to the elf.

“My lord, please understand. I mean no harm to any under your protection, and am in complete control of my... other half. I have traveled here with my pack, unlikely though it may seem that a human is pack to several dwarves and a hobbit, but it is truth. My only business in Imladris is to guard my pack, as is my right, and to resupply before we carry on.”

She pleaded with an earnest gaze for him to believe her, radiating sincerity and honesty as best she could, and it seemed to work. The elf lord’s piercing gaze sharpened for a moment, searching her face, then softened once more, and he nodded. “So be it. Bring no harm to me and mine, and you will find welcome here.”

He then handed her a spare set of garments that had been in the room, complete with a furred cloak, and bade her burn the foul orc rags as soon as she was able. She thanked him gratefully, before changing swiftly even as he turned and slowly paced back toward the door. Within moments, she was redressed, and used her speed to return to the elf’s side within seconds. If he was surprised by her abilities, he did not show it, merely gesturing for her to accompany him back to the waiting dwarves, hobbit, and wizard.

As they rejoined the others, Asta scented relief from her pack, and the wizard, and she allowed herself to relax slightly. She bowed to her alpha, the elf lord, and the wizard in one, taking her leave as Thorin and Gandalf began to speak with Elrond about a map, and tracked down the rest of her pack by scent, passing several elves in the halls and passages. None hindered her, however, and she found her way to the cheerful fire the dwarves were gathered around very quickly. Making her way to Bifur’s side, she snuggled into the warm furs now covering her, grateful that the dwarf gave no comment, only a firm pat on the shoulder that was probably meant to be gentle.

Bofur, meanwhile, appeared to be jesting with his brother, as he mischievously eyed up the already creaking bench the robust dwarrow was seated on. “Oy Bombur! Catch!” he cried out suddenly and joyfully, tossing a sausage to his brother, only to literally fall over to his side in laughter as the bench gave way, breaking beneath Bombur and sending him to the ground. The werewolf couldn’t help a small chuckle of her own, and even Bifur grinned rather haphazardly at the good-natured fun. It was good, to be safe with her pack.

* * *

 

However lovely Rivendell was, Asta was accustomed to roaming as she pleased, always on the move, and even with her pack there, she was not satisfied remaining still for so long. Whenever she had visited Bilba in the Shire, at least she could still hunt the nearby forests. The rabbits and squirrels made for poor food but excellent sport. In Imladris, however, banned as she was from harming anyone or anything under Lord Elrond’s protection, Asta dared not risk a hunt, and thus was restless from inactivity, and very joyous when Bilba informed her that the pack would be moving on now.

Though it appeared that Gandalf would not be joining them, and that seemed suspicious to the girl, she did not question her alpha in this, and packed up her belongings that she had recovered from the wizard the previous evening. While she was donning her boots, and braiding back her hair in a single rope, she was startled when the dwarf alpha suddenly stood before her. It would seem her reflexes had begun to wane, she noted distractedly. She would need to work to regain their full potential.

“Al-... Thorin. My lord. What may I help you with?” she asked quickly, hoping he would not notice her blunder, and wondering if she had somehow angered him. It was unlikely, as they had not had a proper conversation once since she had joined the pack. “Asta” he stated, and paused, as though wondering how to continue. She tilted her head in acknowledgment, and waited patiently for him to proceed. “I have spoken with the elf who is lord of these lands, and he has agreed to arrange an escort for you to a place of Men, wherever you may wish to go.”

_No no no oh Yavanna NO!_ Asta physically stumbled at these words, completely stunned by the realization that her pack didn’t want her, that she was only seen as a liability, that she was rejected by her alpha. Her face paled visibly, and the exiled king was shocked himself at the instant change in the human. Trembling violently, Asta knew she should accept her disgrace with as much dignity as she could, obeying her alpha’s final command, but the thought of losing her _pack_ , her _family_ , was too much. A wounded cry escaped her as she flung herself at Thorin’s feet, pleading desperately.

“Please, please, my lord, allow me another chance. I can be useful, I can! I will do anything! I can gather firewood, carry an extra pack, help with cooking, anything! I beg you, my lord, send me not from your sight. Please, _please_ , give me another chance to prove myself. I will not be a burden, I will carry my own weight. I can give aid when needed to the others, I will protect you with my life! ...Please...” she finished in a broken whisper.

Thorin, for his part, was utterly stunned at the plea, having assumed that the human had been grateful for his aid whilst lost in the wilds, but would be glad of a chance to return to a town of Men at the first opportunity. “Rise” he muttered gruffly, trying to regain his composure. She did so, still begging him with her eyes that looked strangely like a young pup’s might, and waited for his verdict.

“My kin and I do not travel a road suited to humans, especially one so young. While thus far you have been no burden to us, I will not willingly put you in such harm’s way. You do not know what it is we do, nor what we seek.”

“I care not! Y-... Bilba is my family, and if she goes with you, then so do I.” He narrowed his eyes, moving closer aggressively, but for once, the werewolf did not back down or submit to the alpha on instinct, instead meeting his eyes fiercely. “We go to Erebor” he snarled, glaring at the foolishly brave human who would throw away her life for nothing. At least the dwarves who followed him followed him out of honor, and a desire to regain the treasures of their people. The burglar came for the gold, or adventure, or whatever it is hobbits desire, but what could this foolish young girl hope to gain?

“Do you know what lies in that mountain?” he continued, stalking yet closer, and surprised when she did not move away as she had every time before when she had seen him near. “A dragon. A Mahal-cursed dragon. Smaug the Terrible came upon Erebor, destroying most of my people, many years ago, and now my Company and I go to the very resting place of the beast!”

If the dwarf had expected Asta to balk at the mention of a dragon, he was very greatly mistaken. “I. Care. Not. I would face the dragon head on at your command, and if by my life, or death, I can protect _any_ of you, I shall. This means nothing to you, I am aware, but I would swear my life to you nonetheless, if you would but accept. I care not that this mission is almost certain death, I would face it with you! Gladly would I walk into the very jaws of the beast, if it meant I was not torn from the Company...” she trailed off, panting after venting her rage, and watched the stunned play of emotions run across the awestruck dwarf’s face.

Before he could even begin to muster a response to the powerful vow, the two who had followed their uncle in curiosity as he broke away from the group to speak to the human stepped forward then, the same surprise and awe on their faces. Fíli found his voice first, standing between his brother and Asta, and clapped a hand upon her shoulder. In a cheerful, if still somewhat stunned, voice, he said to Thorin, “Well uncle, it would seem we have a Fifteenth member of the Company now.” Kíli grinned, nodding his agreement, although he was rather surprised at his brother’s forthrightness before their uncle for a near stranger.

Asta was simply astonished that the kin-cubs to the alpha would speak on her behalf, and expressed her gratitude by not flinching from the hand that the golden haired dwarf laid upon her shoulder. After all the abuse and betrayal she had experienced, physical contact was still difficult with anyone unfamiliar, and she had to remind herself that these were, by their own words, still her pack.

Thorin finally spoke then, eyeing her in a speculative fashion, as though seeking an ulterior motive, and that assumption was confirmed when he asked, “What do you hope to gain from this? You would willingly walk into certain death? There must be a motive. Perhaps Miss Baggins has told you of the great wealth of the mountain, and you desire a share? The contract of the Company has already been written and signed, and by dwarven law cannot be altered. You stand to gain nothing from this...” he paused there, waiting for the human to come up with a flimsy excuse and retreat if there was no gold in it for her. All Men were the same, desiring only gold, and having no sense of family or honor. Or, it would seem most Men, as this human merely shrugged before stating, “So be it. I would follow you out of loyalty to Bilba then. She is the only one I can call family, on all of Middle Earth, and I will not leave her.”

Stubborn a dwarf though he may be, Thorin could recognize a losing battle when he saw one, and with his nephews behind the human, he knew that this would certainly qualify. “So be it” he parroted back, irritated, resisting the urge to rub the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Do not fall behind. I cannot guarantee your safety, and nor will I be held responsible for your fate.”

“Understood” she said, nearly breathless with relief; then, “Understood, my lord. You have my deepest gratitude.” She bowed low then, at the same time subtly displacing the hand that the elder Durin brother had kept upon her shoulder throughout the conversation. His touch unsettled her, for reasons the wolf could not explain, and as Thorin walked away, she decided that it may be best for her to avoid the brothers for a time until she discovered the reason behind it.

When Kíli patted her arm reassuringly, and she felt nothing other than the warm and comforting presence of pack, the idea was confirmed. Something about Fíli set off the wolf, and Asta vowed to never shift near him if she could avoid it. She could sense no hatred from the wolf, but clearly she viewed him as separate from the rest; different in a way that even being kin to the alpha did not explain.

She was shaken from her thoughts when Thorin’s voice rang out, “Move out!” and she bowed respectfully to the brothers before moving silently to Bilba’s side, following the hobbit by scent more than sight, and losing herself to her musings once more. She should have known by then that nothing could ever go according to plan.


	12. Dreaming

Following behind Dori and Ori, Asta wondered just how far into the mountains they would need to travel before the alpha permitted them to make camp. The entire pack was weary, she could feel it, though none spoke up, not even Bilba. The hobbit had seemed morose since leaving without the wizard, and Asta left her to her thoughts, knowing that in a similar situation she would appreciate the privacy.

It wasn’t as though the werewolf would dare question the alpha herself, either. Not after that little display in Rivendell. Asta was still shocked at her outspoken behavior, before her own alpha no less. She may have been in a panic, but that was no excuse to speak to Thorin so. Hence, she traveled near the very back of her pack, staying far from the alpha until any remaining anger burned off.

            After traveling many miles upon the mountainous terrain, a storm had come upon them with terrible winds and rain, and it grew ever more miserable as the stubborn dwarves paced on, determined to make as much progress as possible. However, when huge chunks of the mountain tore themselves up and formed stone giants (as Bofur so helpfully shouted), Asta began to panic as to her lack of abilities to keep her pack safe.

            This feeling was only reinforced when Bilba missed her step and went over a cliff, being saved only by the courage and strength of the alpha, who reached the hobbit before Asta could even register that she was in danger. It grew worse still when it appeared as though several of the pack had been crushed when the stone shifted again, but Asta was distracted when her wolf within her tore a howl from her human throat. Pure rage and grief was given voice in the wind, a sound that tore at her heart, though she knew not why the wolf cared so deeply. The loss of pack was felt keenly, yes, but there was something more, something that her human half could not identify.

            The sheer relief, joy, and... love?! ( _Why do I feel love? This goes beyond love for pack!_ ) that she felt upon discovering that the missing pack members had not been harmed bewildered her, but she had no time to spare, as the alpha insisted that the pack move on, to safer ground. Never had the werewolf agreed more, and, needing to reassure herself of her pack being alive, she nearly glued herself to Bilba’s side, keeping her body between the hobbit and the cliff’s edge for the remaining journey.

            When they finally made camp in a cave farther up the mountain, a safe distance from the battling stone giants, Asta collapsed onto the bare ground, dropping her pack beside her, uncaring of anything but sleeping to soothe her destroyed nerves, and to regain her strength that had been greatly taxed by restraining the wolf. It had fought her harder than ever before to escape, and keeping it contained had drained her of her last strength. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness within seconds, surrounded by the safety of pack.

 

* * *

 

_It was so dark. The wolf paced swiftly and surely through the borders of the dark forest, and yet even her keen eyes strained to make out all the details of her fleeing prey. The stag already bled from her claws raking down it’s flanks, and the wolf was in no hurry to complete this hunt. She was hungry, yes, but she had eaten a few days ago, and had more than sufficient energy to follow her prey until it tired enough to lay down and die._

_Suddenly, another scent caught in her nose, doing something the wolf had previously believed impossible. It drew her off from the sweet scent of her prey, completely throwing off her hunt. The wolf growled in frustration, knowing she would have to track the stag after all was said and done, and turned to investigate the strange new scent. It was human, but not one that the wolf was familiar with. It smelled younger, and less... male. She had never seen a human female before._

_Within seconds, she also picked up the putrid stench of fear, and knew that this human was being pursued by something. That was wrong. Humans are not prey. Humans should never be prey. The soft mind-pack-mate had told her so many, many times. The wolf caught the scent of a warg pack, and a growl rumbled through her throat. The dark pack would die. Humans are not prey._

_Picking up speed, the trees began to blur, even to her eyes, and as she entered the clearing where the human cub cowered from the dark pack, she slammed into two of the wargs with a force to knock them off their paws. Snarling, she tore their throats out with ease before jumping over several of them to place herself between the cub and the dark pack. She waited only seconds until three of the wargs leapt at her, and she joined in the battle with dark glee, enjoying the gushing blood between her teeth and claws._

_Within mere minutes, it was over. Every warg lay dead, though the wolf had sustained a vicious bite to her left shoulder, but she knew she would heal within the hour. She then turned to the human cub, who was still cowering by the base of a tree. The human pulled harshly at the wolf’s mind, forcibly taking control again, and the change overtook her._

_Asta shook her head, stumbling over to a nearby tree to brace herself, only to hiss in pain as her wounded shoulder came in contact with the bark. Panting, she gave herself a moment to recover, before looking up at the human girl before her. She had messy blond hair, big blue eyes, and a terrified expression._

_The werewolf coughed a couple of times, before taking a step toward the girl, raising a hand in reassurance, but froze in her tracks when the human flinched back. “It- it’s all right. I will not harm you.” She managed to grumble roughly, still fighting to find her human voice. The girl simply continued to stare at her in fear, and then spoke shakily, “Who... what are you?”_

_Asta eyed the human curiously, coming back to herself fully, and allowed herself a moment to observe the first human female she had seen since being cast out. There were no children, and certainly no women, in the wilds where the werewolf preferred to wander, and she was struck with a sense of homesickness. The girl appeared to be a few years younger than the wolf, and she wondered where the human’s family was._

_“My name is Asta, human. Yours?” The human, still trembling, managed to speak once more, although she was still very pale, and refused to look at the carnage on the ground around her. “S-Sigrid, daughter of Bard.” Asta bowed, grinned, and made to move closer to the girl, only to be stopped short at the distinctive creaking of an arrow being drawn in a bow. The projectile whistled slightly in the air, allowing the wolf to pinpoint its location, and her hand shot up of its own accord to catch the arrow two inches from her right eye._

_Out of the trees, behind Sigrid, a tall, grim looking human male sprinted, racing to the girl’s side, and pushing her slightly behind him as he nocked another arrow into his bow. Quickly, and urgently, he questioned the girl, so quietly that Asta had to strain her ears to catch it. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” She answered just as quickly and quietly, neither taking their eyes from Asta. “No, Da, I am fine. But she... she...”_

_“I saw” he replied, eyes very concerned, successfully concealing his fear as well. He raised his voice, eyes focusing sharply on Asta, and spoke. “I am Bard, of Laketown. What business do you have here?” The werewolf moved back a pace, eyeing the bow warily, and raised her hands slightly. “I-“_

Asta shot up, leaping to her feet, gasping for breath, only to be confronted with the sight of Bofur and Bilba engaged in a stare-off of epic proportions. Neither noticed her abrupt awakening, being very focused on their conversation. She watched in silence, as Bofur finally nodded a bit, saying softly, “No, you’re right. We don’t belong anywhere.” The werewolf suppressed a whine of pain at the dwarf’s tone, and then felt a warm surge of affection and love for her pack-mate when he smiled at the hobbit and said, in all earnestness, “I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.”

Was Bilba leaving? Why would she try to leave her pack? Leave Asta? What had happened? What was that noise? Why was the _floor falling out from under the pack?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AWESOME fact I feel like a moron for not knowing sooner, but Sigrid is totally Bofur’s daughter! (Peggy Nesbitt, daughter of James Nesbitt, plays Sigrid!) Peggy is also where I got Sigrid’s age, cause I couldn’t find it anywhere, so I went with 18 in ‘real time’, and 14 when she met Asta. Asta is 20 in real time, and was 16 when she met Sigrid and Bard. Oh, also, I hope you enjoyed!


	13. Down in the Deep of Goblin-town

            The pack collapsed upon the floor hard, and Asta only just managed to land on her feet in a crouch. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of sheer _goblin_ that threatened to overwhelm her, and had only just stood up when a huge swarm of the foul beasts converged upon her still-dazed pack. The werewolf had no time to get her bearings, and when the alpha was overpowered along with the pack, Asta allowed herself to be taken as well, biding her time until she would be forced to act.

            When the pack was dragged before a misshapen throne, and the werewolf fought back bile in her throat at the huge, hideous, misshapen _thing_ seated upon it. Surrounding the throne, on elevated platforms, many more goblins shouted and cursed, and Asta found herself wishing her hearing wasn’t quite so sharp. The dwarves’ weapons were confiscated in short order, and after glancing at Thorin, Asta followed the alpha’s example and permitted them to take her swords as well, though she kept her daggers concealed.

            The lead creature, Asta hesitated to call him an alpha, spoke then, in a grumbling voice, “Who would be so bold, as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?” The werewolf fought back a growl, knowing that even if she shifted forms, she would not be able to slay all these creatures. She would kill many, of that she had no doubt, but she would not survive, and there was no guarantee her pack would, either, so for the time, she held her tongue and looked to Thorin for guidance once more.

            One of the smaller goblins who had captured them answered his ‘king’, “Dwarves, your Malevolence.” The Goblin King peered at them more closely. “Dwarves?” The same smaller goblin spoke again, “We found ‘em on the Front Porch.” The large creature took a step back, gesturing to the entire pack as he commanded, “Don’t just stand there. Search them!”

            When their slimy, grasping paws clawed at her garments, the werewolf couldn’t contain a warning snarl. The wolf wakened within her again, and Asta hoped the dwarves would be distracted, as she knew her eyes had begun to glow, just a bit. “Every crack! Every crevice!” the Goblin King continued, and the werewolf forced herself to keep her eyes closed, curling her fingers into her palms so that her emerging claws would not be visible. She tasted blood as her fangs began to come out, and the taste grounded her. Half-changed as she was, her senses were even more enhanced, and the frightened heartbeats of her pack pounded in her ears like drums.

            Asta found herself seeking Bilba’s heartbeat, hoping to find control in the familiarity of pack, but she came up short. The hobbit was not among the pack. Bilba was gone. Asta saw red, and she knew that she was doomed. The shift was upon her, and the wolf was taking full control. The pack was in danger, Bilba was gone, and the alpha would not fight. The wolf was enraged, and the human was at the end of her strength. Then, she heard a low, gruff grumble, and she focused in on the voice with every fiber of her being. Bifur stood beside her, his hand on her arm, murmuring urgently in Khuzdul.

            Astonishingly, the wolf backed down. The pack had not given up, they were only biding their time, and Asta sagged in relief as she felt her fangs and claws return to teeth and fingernails. She opened her eyes to glance at Bifur, and when he didn’t react save to pat her shoulder in reassurance, she knew that her eyes had also returned to human form.

            In the brief lull after they had been searched, and two more daggers had been taken from the werewolf, as well as countless treasures off Nori, Asta pressed closer to Bifur, keeping her eyes on the Goblin King. “What are you doing in these parts?” he demanded after a moment, glaring at the assembled dwarves. “Speak!” The pack remained silent as one, and Asta glared defiantly at the creature, feeling her eyes spark just a bit as she wavered on the edge of the change. Control was once again in her grasp, however, and she breathed evenly and deeply in an attempt to keep it that way.

            “Very well” the creature continued, addressing his subjects. “If they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk!” The assembled goblins cheered, clearly relishing the idea of torturing their captives, and Asta snarled softly. “Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bone-breaker!” The dwarves did not seem affected, keeping up a stony facade in their posture and upon their faces, but Asta could smell the stench of their fear intensify, and she fought back another growl. She and her wolf were in complete agreement about this, at least. Her pack should _never_ smell of fear.

            “Start with the youngest!” At that, the Goblin King pointed to young Ori, sweet Ori, who had never given the girl cause to fear. He had been kind, quiet, and shy, reminding Asta of herself in her youth, and the werewolf wondered to herself why the Goblin had not chosen her, but that did not matter, because _Ori_. “Wait!” the werewolf and the alpha cried out as one, but Asta ducked her head and stepped back when Thorin stepped forward. It was not her place to protect the pack before the alpha, though if he had not stepped up, she would have been well within her rights to do so then.

            Thorin glanced at her for the span of a second, then looked back to the Goblin King, standing tall as a king in his own right, and Asta moved quietly over to stand in front of Ori nonetheless as the creature spoke. “Well, well, well. Look who it is. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.” The goblin bowed mockingly, but Asta did not even register it, numb with shock. The alpha, Thorin, was a _king_?! She was distracted when Ori gripped her arm, smelling even more of fear, and she chuffed softly in her throat, instinctively trying to reassure what the wolf saw as little more than a cub, even though the young dwarrow had at least fifty years on her.

            “Oh, but I’m forgetting. You don’t have a mountain. And you’re not a king, which makes you nobody, really.” The Goblin’s glower turned even more harsh, if that were possible, as he continued, “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just a head. Nothing attached.” He pulled back a bit, dramatically, and grinned, an expression so loathsome Asta again fought down bile. “Perhaps you know of whom I speak? An old enemy of yours.” This goblin seemed to have a flare for the overdramatic, as he continued to draw this out. “A pale Orc, astride a white Warg.”

            The hatred and anger that Asta had sensed from the dwarves when they had first come to Rivendell was as nothing in comparison to the utter loathing and fury that now rolled off all the dwarves in waves. It came most strongly from the alpha, and the werewolf wondered who this pale orc was, to cause such a reaction. When Thorin spoke, voice low and so, _so_ deadly, Asta instinctively whined very softly in her throat and tilted back her head, baring her neck toward the enraged alpha. Fortunately, all focus was upon the confrontation between kings, and the motion went unnoticed. “Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago!”

            The Goblin King merely tilted his head to the side and asked, condescendingly, “So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” He chuckled menacingly, and commanded a strange, small goblin mutant creature to send word to this ‘pale orc’, whoever he may be. Asta felt that somehow the ‘pale orc’ would be important in the near future, and she glanced at her alpha uneasily. His past was clearly tied up in the creature, whatever it was, and she knew that he must be dangerous.

            Asta enjoyed music, a hearty tune on a lonely night was often just what she needed to cheer her heart whilst alone in the wilds, but she began to rethink her standpoint when the goblins decided to engage in a sing-along. The haunting, vicious lyrics made her shudder, though her wolf seemed darkly pleased in imagining following the song’s instructions, carried out upon the ones who sang it.

            _Bones will be shattered, necks will be wrung. You’ll be beaten and battered, from racks you’ll be hung! You will die down here and never be found, down in the deep of Goblin-town. Indeed, she mused, they will die down here, should they move to truly harm her pack, and their rotten corpses will never be found._

The werewolf glanced up from where she was currently fending off two grasping goblins from pawing at Ori, to see the same goblin that had spoken earlier holding the alpha’s elven sword. Her eyes widened, and she tried to move toward him, but she was held back by the press of bodies, both of her pack and the goblins that harassed them. When the creature unsheathed Orcrist, however, none could have predicted the reaction that followed.

            The goblins screamed and flinched back, moving as far away as they could, and even their repulsive king cowered back to his throne, fear writ clearly upon his face as he cried out, “I know that sword! It is the Goblin-cleaver! The Biter!” The goblins came back in then, beginning to strike out at the dwarves with whips and fists. It was then, as Asta saw her alpha struck with a whip across his back, that her vision went red, then black, and all she knew was darkness.


	14. Unleash the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anything confusing about this chapter, please let me know. I have altered it so many times, I lost count, and I’m still not super happy with it, but I felt I should post it as is at this point. Have questions about anything? Please ask! I’d be more than happy to try to answer. Please enjoy.

            As Thorin felt the whip’s blow upon his back, he cried out involuntarily at the impact. He snarled, regaining his feet, and turned to face his attacker, only to be brought up short at the blur before his eyes. Something small and dark moved, faster than his sight could follow, and slammed into the goblin. The dwarf king blinked, and the blur was gone, leaving the goblin’s corpse laying upon the ground, it’s throat missing. He turned, as quickly as he could, to where his nephews tried to fight, side by side, but the whips of the goblins were vicious and swift. Then, the blur came again. One moment, the brothers were staggering under the blows, and the next, they looked around themselves in confusion when their attackers suddenly vanished, leaving a slight pool of blood where they had stood only a second before.

            The dwarf king was distracted when he felt three more goblins slam into him, pinning him to the ground despite his struggles, and a fourth held a knife above his head. The Goblin King was shouting, commanding his troops to attack, to cut off his head, and Thorin glared in defiance at what he believed to be his death. Then the blur came again, and the goblin was knocked off of him with such a force that the others who had been holding him down were bowled over as well.

            He struggled to sit up, and managed to look in time to see what appeared to be the human girl crouched over the body of the goblin that had nearly killed him, before a bright, blinding light shone over the cavern in a burst, blinding all in the vicinity. The one responsible stepped forward, and Thorin sagged, just a fraction, in relief. Tharkûn had returned.

* * *

 

            In the resulting chaos, with the wizard crying, “Take up arms. Fight. Fight!” and the dwarves struggling to get to their feet and away from the mass of goblins, no attention was paid to the missing hobbit, or the strange behavior of the human. The dwarves took heart at the fear in the Goblin King’s voice as he cried out, “He wields the Foehammer! The Beater! Bright as daylight!”, and they fought all the more viciously.

            In and out, different dwarves caught a bare glimpse of a dark blur, before whatever opponent they had been fighting was slain, but none could get a clear look at their savior. None, save one. But they were all too engaged in the fighting to pay much attention to details, and as they fought their way out, they focused only on following Gandalf as he led the way.

            The blur disappeared then, and the human girl stood behind them once more, running in the very back, not speaking, and not lifting her eyes from the floor in front of her. When they reached a portion of bridge that swung back and forth, suspended from ropes high above, she leapt onto it with the rest, and waited until the second swing to jump, throwing off two of the goblins that had jumped on at the recoil, but none paid it any mind.

            When they were stopped, as the Goblin King returned, bursting up before the Company from the middle of the bridge they stood upon, the girl stopped too, her hands fisted and her eyes hidden beneath her hair, expression blank. As Gandalf slayed the Goblin King, the dwarves tensed, ready for the fighting to continue, but the human didn’t even twitch. When the bridge fell out beneath them, they cried out, but surprisingly landed without harm.

            Bofur spoke then, ever the optimist, “Well, that could have been worse.” It was then that the body of the Goblin King fell upon them. Dwalin was not pleased, to say the least. They ran at Gandalf’s suggestion of daylight, sprinting with a speed only dwarves could procure, at least short-distance, and made it to the exit without further complications. They were safe.

* * *

 

            The wolf was angry. She had felt pain before, hunger, thirst, sorrow even, but never this blinding, red rage that consumed her. Dimly, she realized that her body felt _wrong_ , that her claws were shorter than they should have been, that her fangs, while still sharp, were blunter than normal, but those were petty matters. The _filth_ she hunted had _dared._ Had **_dared_** lay claw upon the alpha, and she did not realize that she was not, in fact, a wolf. All that mattered was that these who thought themselves predators of her pack were now her prey.

            She tore through many, killing each quickly, but where normally she would revel in the gore and bloodshed, now she felt only a grim satisfaction at each corpse she left behind. Her pack was hurt, bleeding, and terrified, and she had failed them. The human had held her back too long. Now the human was broken. The wolf vaguely wondered when the human would heal enough to return. Then she turned her attention back to her pack. The strange man-not-man was back, and he held the sun in his hand, and burned her eyes. She snarled, but it had also burned the eyes of the prey, so she did not attack him.

            When he moved, the alpha followed, as did the pack, so the wolf followed the pack, keeping her gaze away. Although the human was farther away than the wolf had ever known, distantly, the wolf could hear the human urging her to conceal her claws, fangs, and eyes from the pack. They reached a hole in the mountain, and her pack exited quickly, but the wolf paused. Bilba was gone. Where was small-soft-pack mate? As she was about to exit, she sniffed, and she could detect the hobbit’s scent, strong once again, and she relaxed, knowing now that her pack and the hobbit were safe. She relinquished control, expecting the human to take over again. Asta’s body collapsed lifelessly to the ground just outside the exit of the mountain.

* * *

 

            Blurry, angry voices jarred the human awake, and she tried to sit up, only to moan in pain at the pounding in her head. Dwalin’s rough voice came from behind her, and she rolled over and managed to lift her head just enough to see her pack assembled, speaking of a halfling. _Bilba? What about Bilba? What on Arda happened to me?_

            Gloin spoke, “I thought she was with Dori!” to which the dwarf in question responded angrily, “Don’t blame me!” Gandalf asked, “Well, where did you last see her?” Asta groaned, forcing herself to her feet despite the pain in her head, only to freeze at the sight of the blood covering her hands. Though there was a great deal of goblin blood there, there were four tell-tale marks on each palm that indicated her claws had come out, completely, despite attempts to keep it under control. She had shifted, and bore no memory of it. _No..._

            Nori’s voice reached her, as he said, “I think I saw her slip away when they first collared us.” _Focus, Asta. None of your pack is dead or missing, save Bilba, and her scent is strong. She is nearby. You must find her! They can’t know, or they wouldn’t have left you alive._ Gandalf asked the master thief, “And what happened, exactly? Tell me!”

            The werewolf stumbled closer to her pack, only to freeze when the alpha spoke, rage and resignation warring in his voice. “I’ll tell you what happened. Miss Baggins saw her chance and she took it. She has thought of nothing but her soft bed and her warm hearth” and here the alpha’s voice faltered, just a space, and the girl knew it meant something, but there was far too much going on for her to determine what. “Since first she stepped out of her door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. She is long gone.”

            Asta stood still, in shock that the alpha would speak so of Bilba. She had been able to smell the attraction between the two, since first Thorin had followed Bilba to ‘protect’ her from Asta herself. Even if the desire was only physical, she could sense that Thorin had feelings for the hobbit. Why would he speak so of someone he desired as mate? And Bilba was not long gone, far from it, for by her scent, it was as though she stood among them. Did Asta’s nose betray her?

            “No. She isn’t.” Bilba’s warm, though slightly strained at the time, voice came then, from behind Asta, and she startled, jerking around in surprise. How had the hobbit done it? Her heartbeat had been present, but muted somehow, then all of a sudden, it had been loud and clear again, and Bilba was visible. What strange magic was this? Asta decided it had been far too strange a day to question it too thoroughly, and was only glad that Bilba was back with the pack, safe as could be.

            The werewolf ducked her head and stepped aside, watching the following confrontation with concern at first, which quickly turned to joy at the relief in the dwarves’ and Gandalf’s voices as they welcomed her back. The werewolf suppressed a chuckle and looked on with no small amount of amusement, when Thorin said, “It matters. I want to know, why did you come back?” The attraction, and dare she say, blossoming _love,_ between the two was so blindingly obvious that even the other dwarves, with senses as blunt as they had, should have been able to pick up on it.

           She couldn’t help a smile, when Bilba said in all earnestness, “Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you’re right, I often think of Bag-End. I miss my books. And my armchair, and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back. Because... you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back, if I can.”

           Throughout this speech, as the hobbit and alpha dwarf gazed intensely into each others’ eyes, Asta marveled at the _obvious_ love in the hobbit’s words, and in both their gazes. How did they not realize the attraction between them? Were they truly so blind? She was grateful for their astonishing obliviousness when it came to her, but in this case, it was really too bad. The fiery little hobbit and the fierce dwarf were well suited to each other. Bilba could stand up to Thorin when all others were unwilling, and if that wasn’t a sign of a suitable mate, then she didn’t turn into a wolf three times a month.

          Perhaps, by this journey’s end, Asta would have both an Alpha Male, and an Alpha Female, to answer to as Pack Leaders. Then, of course, she remembered the Goblin King’s words, and she froze, as fear overtook her once more. Thorin was a King, not just an alpha to this pack. She must never allow any of the dwarves to discover what she was, or there would be no banishment for her. Only death.


	15. Unfortunate Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I’d like to know what you think! And please enjoy! Any questions, feel free to ask. Any and all criticism is welcome, flames are not.

            When, out of nowhere, the enraged howling of a warg pack suddenly began to echo around the dwarves, Asta only blindly followed her pack, her mind spinning with what could happen should any single dwarf ever discover _what_ she was. Every authority figure in every town, province, or kingdom she had ever had the misfortune to be discovered in had immediately and without mercy sentenced her to death. Even during the shifter’s brief and quiet stay in Rohan, when she found work as a stable hand, able to use her ‘animal sense’ so to speak, to calm nervous horses, the old king had learned of her condition-and felt obligated to protect his people. At least he had the mercy to order a swift beheading, and not torture as she had faced when in a small Haradrim town.

            Should any of her pack discover what she was, they would be honor-bound to report to their king, and then her life would truly be over. The werewolf knew that she could never fight her pack, or cause them true harm, even if it meant she couldn’t fight for her life. Perhaps, in the first weeks she had been with them, she could have fought, and even killed, the dwarves in her wolf form in self-defense. Now, though, they were pack to the wolf, and nothing short of family to her. Thorin may have shown (very rare) moments of gentleness and kindness when around his nephews, or Bilba, if he believed himself unwatched, but the girl knew better than to believe he would show mercy to her. Fierce in battle and protective of his Company, the vagabond king would have no choice but to kill such a threat to his people.

            The werewolf was shaken from her musings when she heard Gandalf, apparently responding to a previous comment, mutter, “...and into the fire. Run!” and Asta ran. There was no time for foolish musings. After so many years of learning how to hide, keeping her other half secret from the dwarves should be no great hardship. Now if only the wolf would understand that the pack could be dangerous to _her_ , Asta would be as safe as possible in such conditions.

            She deliberately slowed her pace so that she lagged in the very rear of the sprinting pack, with the wizard leading the way. However, her keen eyes immediately noted that the hunters were not only closing in fast, but also herding the pack towards the end of a cliff, where there would be no escape for the dwarves. Already, they were cornered, and Asta’s heart stopped for a moment as she looked around desperately, hoping and praying that there would be some other escape route, but all that met her gaze was cold, gray cliff sides ahead, and the snarling wargs and whooping orcs behind.

            “Into the trees! Climb!” the wizard’s voice carried back to her, and she saw the dwarves coming to the same realization she had, that they could not outrun the pack, and even if they could, there was nowhere to go. The werewolf looked quickly to the younger dwarves, to the alpha’s nephews and Ori, but they all appeared to have little difficulty scaling the tall pines. One of the elder dwarves, whose name may have been Gloin but she could be mistaken, swung up partially, but was unable to hoist his legs up to the branch he clung to. She immediately leapt beneath him, pushing him up far swifter and with greater strength than she might have dared otherwise.

            She then took several steps back, turning and looking around, the need to protect her pack warring with her need to survive. Asta had just assured herself that all of her pack was safely situated when she felt a sudden, tearing pain in the same shoulder Kíli had shot those weeks ago. Snarling involuntarily, she allowed her claws to come out on her left hand, turning 180 degrees in a fraction of a second, tearing through the throat of the warg in one swift motion.

            The orc riding it squealed in rage, but the beast had been moving so swiftly when it attacked her, that when it fell in death the momentum caused its rider to pitch violently over the dying creature’s head and face plant into the dirt several yards ahead. The next warg was mere feet from Asta when she finally made a leap for the nearest tree, at least six feet away, but her powerful muscles propelled her into the lowest branches easily.

            Though bleeding heavily from the gashes in her shoulder, she climbed easily higher in the branches, noting that she had somehow found a tree that did not have any dwarves, hobbits, or wizards already inhabiting it. It didn’t last long however, as the wargs below were enraged at the murder of one of their own, and began to leap en masse at the base of the tree the girl had taken refuge in, it began to crack at the base, before falling over into the tree several yards away. Asta had only a moment to leap to the next tree, reaching desperately for a handhold and her hand made contact with something soft.

            Her head jerked up in shock, meeting the bemused eyes of Bombur, who suddenly had a human in his lap, with her hands braced against his beard. “Sorry!” she muttered, then glanced down and cried out, “Jump!” The wargs had moved to the next tree, although half of the dark pack was attacking the tree beside them as well, causing all the dwarves to jump to the next tree in the line as theirs fell.

            The pattern continued, with Asta feeling more and more helpless to try to keep them safe, until the entire pack was crowded into a single tree, and the wargs began to close in once more, the orcs jeering at the cornered dwarves. The werewolf glanced nervously at the cliff mere feet from the base of the last pine, and she knew if they knocked it over as they had the others, it was likely that her whole pack would fall over the edge and perish. She whined, despairing, then blinked and flinched back when a sudden flare of fire passed right before her eyes. She whipped around to look up, seeing the wizard lighting a pinecone with a strange spark before throwing it down at the wargs who had them at bay.

            The magical fire sparked and grew immediately and ferociously, catching many of the creatures ablaze, as well as creating a virtual wall of fire between the trunk of the pine and the remaining orcs and wargs. The werewolf allowed herself a small moment of relief, hoping the wizard had the skill to not only temporarily protect them, but also to get them to safety, _somehow_. The moment ended, however, as the raucous cries of the orcs grew louder and more cruelly gleeful, and the wargs pressed forward once more, causing the tree to finally fall, though it stopped when it was horizontal, the roots holding it in place.

            The impact had jarred the dwarves badly, however, and they struggled to retain their tenuous holds upon the branches. A fearful cry drew Asta’s attention, and she felt her heart stop in horror at the sight of Dori struggling to hold onto a branch, his torso and legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, with Ori holding to his legs for dear life, suspended in midair. “Ori!” she yelped, at the same time that Dori’s hands began to slip and he cried for the wizard, who was closest. “Mr. Gandalf!” he managed to get out, right before he lost his grip altogether and fell.

            The wizard’s staff dropped just in time for the falling dwarrow to catch hold, and the brothers dangled well over the edge, Gandalf and his staff the only thing keeping them from falling to their deaths below. Asta tried to get to them, seeing Dwalin making a similar effort, only to have the branch he clung to break part way through, stranding him again.

            Just when Asta was certain that the situation couldn’t become any worse, there was a moment of eerie silence, and the smaller orcs and wargs made way for a huge, light-skinned monstrosity to ride forward. The warg he sat upon had a light gray, near-white fur, and Asta’s eyes widened in realization. If the identical scent of hatred and rage once again emanating from her pack as did appear upon the mere mention of this creature back in the caves was any indication, this was the ‘Pale Orc astride a White Warg’.

            Thorin breathed, “Azog” in a voice of sheer horror, and Asta’s heart clenched at the sound of her alpha in so much pain. Whatever history was between the two, it was clearly very harsh. As the pack held desperately to the tree, the alpha stood up, finding his footing and stalking forward, toward the wall of fire and this ‘Azog’.

            “Alpha...” the werewolf whimpered, sensing the folly of his actions. The wolf did not want to question her alpha, but with the pack on the very brink of death, this was not the time for a grudge match. Thorin did not hear, though, and paced on, facing off against the Gundabad Orc without fear. The ensuing fight triggered the wolf once again, but Asta did not fight this time. She did not wish to lose herself entirely, so she willingly allowed the shift, and kept her mind. Wilder, driven more by instinct than rational thought, but her mind remained her own.

            Only allowing her claws to come first, she climbed on the very bottom of the tree trunk, beneath all the dwarves except for Dori and Ori, who were too busy holding on to pay much attention to the human. Once she reached the rocky ground once again, she climbed along the cliff side, the darkness concealing her form well enough, and she moved several yards until she could climb all the way up, standing hidden amongst the darkness. She stripped in one smooth motion, taking only seconds to bundle her garments into a tiny pack that she quickly tied to her belly, before dropping to all fours and shifting.

            She threw herself into the fray then, slaying several of the smaller wargs and orcs with little difficulty, but turned to stare in shock when she heard a hobbit’s battle cry. Bilba, holding her little dagger tightly, stood between Thorin and an orc that had been about to slay him. She darted forward, speed and sheer luck enabling her to _slay the orc_! Asta was very impressed by her closest friend’s bravery, though she worried for her safety. Then the other dwarves seemed to regain their footing, and several of them charged into the fight as well, surrounding the wounded alpha protectively. The wolf snarled viciously when she smelled the alpha’s blood, and she started to move towards him, but was stopped by a swift strike of a hammer to her left shoulder, which shattered the bone.

            Bofur stood before her, swinging his mattock once again, aiming for her head this time, and Asta only barely managed to duck, wounded as she was. Adrenaline coursed through the wolf, so it took a moment for the impact to begin to pain her, but when she registered it, she let out a shriek of agony that came out as a half-howl. The dwarrow moved to attack again, and the wolf was angered and confused at her pack-mate’s aggression toward her. _Why does my pack attack me?_

            Asta forced her back, keeping her from harming Bofur, but stayed in her wolf form, jumping back away from the dwarf, and rolling under a warg, tearing out its belly while she was beneath it. She continued to move, the corpse of the warg falling where she had lay only seconds before. When she rolled back to her paws, Bofur had moved on to another warg, before a high-pitched screeching hit her ears, and she flattened them to her skull in discomfort.

            A huge shadow passed closely over the ground at the same time Dori cried out, finally losing his grip and falling with Ori, and Asta howled in anger and pain at the loss. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, a giant eagle rose up, the two dwarrows safely upon its back. Confusion and chaos followed, with eagles scooping up the fallen alpha and many of the other dwarves. They also crashed into many of the wargs and orcs, picking them up only to drop them to their deaths over the edge of the cliff.

            Asta was relieved when she saw her pack was not dropped, but carried off, presumably to safety. Gandalf appeared to have some connection with the creatures, and the werewolf trusted the wizard to keep her pack safe. Then, before she could dodge, one of the eagles seized her as well, hefting her into the skies. She tried to cry out, “No, wait please!” but it only came out as a sharp whine, her vocal cords unable to procure human speech in that form. The last thing she registered was the claws letting go, and an endless fall into the empty darkness below.


	16. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Body horror; nothing too graphic, but it definitely grossed me out a bit, so be warned. Also, my apologies that this is so late, I had intended to update shortly after Thanksgiving, but my dog got hit and killed by a car, so I was thrown off a bit emotionally. I’m back to writing now, and looking for a new canine buddy! :) Enjoy!

            Asta fell for what felt like forever, a suspended moment in time where she couldn’t breathe, and a feeling of utter helplessness overtook her. Her body, still in its wolf form, spun wildly out of control at the slightest motion, and she fought against the air to try to stabilize herself. Then, in a fraction of a second, all time ceased, and she distantly registered an impact as her body hit the ground, and every bone within it shattered.

            She lay there in the small crater the impact had formed for a moment, dazed, incapable of thinking coherently, and managed to muse as to how her heart was still beating. Then, feeling returned, and hoarse screams involuntarily tore from her throat as she registered the overwhelming agony throughout every inch of her broken form. The pain was complete, overtaking and wiping out everything else, and within moments, it became too much for her to handle, and she lost consciousness, not expecting to wake again.

* * *

 

            Bilba stood in utter shock as Thorin’s arms wrapped around her, the embrace warm and comforting beyond anything the hobbit had ever felt before. Even curling up with a perfect cup of tea and a good book in her father’s armchair was as nothing compared to this dwarf’s entirely unexpected embrace. As his hoarse voice muttered, “I have never been so wrong, in all my life!” the hobbit stood astounded at the change. One moment, this befuddling dwarf was shouting at her for saving his life, and the next, he was admitting that she was one of them, that she fit in, that she was _not_ a burden to them! And hugging. Her. Still. When he finally drew away, it was all Bilba could do to stay standing on her own two feet, so caught off balance was she.

            When he pulled back, a softness in his eyes she had never seen before, gazing gently into her own, she was struck suddenly by the realization that she had begun to fall in love with the exiled king without ever realizing it. When had these feelings begun? He had been nothing but gruff and hostile from the beginning… Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he looked at his nephews, the solemn grief in his stance as Balin told the tale of Azanulbizar, and the gratitude at the fierce loyalty all his Company showed him as the tale drew to a close, and he turned to find them all standing in respect to their king, throne or no.

            When he turned that intense look upon her, her heart leapt within her, and she knew she was lost. “I am sorry I doubted you.” He was sincere, and she smiled a bit, looking down for a moment self-deprecatingly. “No, no I would have doubted me too… I’m not a hero, or a warrior” she glanced a Gandalf for a moment then, giving him a _Look_ , and continued, “not even a burglar.” The Company chuckled a bit at that, even the wizard cracking a smile, and Thorin’s eyes still held that warm glow.

When Thorin froze suddenly, his gaze riveted on something behind her, she turned automatically, and caught sight of a single mountain in the distance. All the dwarves moved closer to look as well, and the wizard spoke. “Erebor. The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great Dwarf Kingdoms of Middle Earth.” She stared at it, somehow surprised that she had made it this far, though her eyes jumped to the king when he spoke again. “Our home” Thorin murmured, reverence and awe in his voice, and Bilba snapped out of her daze, grinning at him like a fool, and feeling that, even after all that had occurred, things might finally be looking up.

Oin and Gandalf spoke a moment, when a twittering bird flew overhead, flying toward the Mountain. Then Thorin jumped in as well, stating that it was a good omen for them, glancing to her as he spoke. “You’re right” she said, nodding cheerfully in agreement. “I do believe the worst is behind us.” She had to grin again at the others, happy and hopeful once again, despite the Goblins and Orcs and Wargs and… perhaps it would be better to just move on.

Once Gandalf once again looked over Thorin, ensuring that he was fully recovered from being chewed up thoroughly by a warg, the Company began to descend from the peak of Carrock. It took far, far longer than it should have for Bilba to discover something was amiss, and she was ashamed when she wasn’t even the first to notice. It was Nori who spoke up, the usually quiet thief quite loud when he realized the Company was one member short. “Thorin! Where’s our human?”

It seemed that losing a member of the Company here and there was becoming almost a habit, and she had to wonder if this would turn into a recurring pattern. Just as she had seen the brothers do when they were debating if she had gone back home, Fíli and Kíli turned side to side, looking around as though Asta would just pop up out of the ground, shouting “Surprise!”

“Asta? Asta!” she cried out, but the wizard silenced her before she could shout louder, a grim expression on his face. “We must move silently, it is unlikely the Orcs will have given up their pursuit so easily.” He said this to all of them, then very quietly pulled Bilba aside as the others argued amongst themselves, trying to remember who had seen their human last, and where. “Is it possible that Asta was… _not herself_ for a time when we were in the tree?” he asked of Bilba in a whisper. Her eyes widened in horror at the implications of that question. She could see in her mind’s eye the eagles throwing Wargs from the cliff with no hesitation, and her mind filled in the terrible image of Asta, as a wolf, falling in the same manner.

“No!” she yelped, far louder than she should have, and instantly the eyes of thirteen dwarves were on her, some looking with confusion, most with concern. “I… um… just saw Asta after that… time, when Gandalf was throwing pinecones. He thought that was the last time…” she trailed off lamely, but even that weak excuse seemed to be enough to divert suspicion, instead sparking another argument as to the last time Asta had been seen. After a few minutes, it was decided that the last, confirmed, time someone had seen her was when she had leapt to the final tree and landed right in Bombur’s lap. The corpulent dwarf had seen her climb a bit down the tree, then it had fallen to stop horizontally, and he had other things to focus on, like staying alive.

Finally, they had to accept that she had not been taken by the eagles with them, and many a glare and harsh muttered comment were directed towards the sky in the direction the birds had flown, but there was nothing to be done for it now. If she had lived, and somehow miraculously avoided the Wargs and Orcs, she had obviously survived in the wilds alone before, and would likely do so again. That seemed to be the end of it for the dwarves, but the hobbit and the wizard were far, far more troubled at the more likely answer. The answer that would result in a broken corpse at the foot of that cliff.

* * *

 

Waking _hurt_ , curse it. Curse it to the void! What ‘it’ was, did not matter. _Everything **hurt!**_ Her skin was more black than blue, her bones trying to knit themselves together, but taking too long. Something was wrong, aside from the obvious. The obvious being the little free fall that eagle had so generously helped her to take. _I hate birds_ , the werewolf decided, small bits of clarity coming and going as she faded in and out of consciousness.

She appeared to have involuntarily shifted back into human form just before landing, if the crumpled up position she now found herself in was anything to go by. Her werewolf healing was clearly trying to mend her wounds, but they were many, and severe. Judging that her bones remained in several thousand pieces, and her skin broken in multiple places and quite colorful, there must have been very extensive internal injuries as well. _I knew I was hard to kill, but void, do you have to completely take out my heart or cut my head off to end me? That fall **should** have killed me, werewolf or not!_

Asta realized another problem when her stomach, somehow, managed to twinge even worse than the other pain, and she rolled her, now healed, eyes to try to see what was hindering her healing there, and fought back vomit, which probably was not a good idea right just then, when she saw her elbow pushed completely through her side, her forearm and hand at a complete right angle to the rest of her body, her left arm completely dislocated, and the skin and muscle pulled to the breaking point. Truthfully, she was rather surprised that it hadn’t torn off completely.

Her head and neck seemed to have been healed first, as she was able to grit her teeth, knowing what she had to do now. Knowing did not make it easier. At. All. Forcing what muscles were responding in her right arm to move, she managed to get it to flop to the ground beside her shoulder, before shoving with all the strength she could muster, a silent scream of agony tearing out of her as she rolled over her left arm to land on her back. Breathing heavily, trying to deal with this new wave of pain, she tried to focus in healing on her right arm, but most of it was concentrated on her internal organs.

After several minutes of laying on her back, just gasping in agony, she acquired a bit more feeling in her right arm, and was able to clench her fingers, just a bit, but hopefully enough for the next task. Slowly, achingly, she reached over her stomach with her right hand, grasping her left forearm, and _pulled._ Another shriek tore through her, this time, through vocal cords that actually worked, be it sub-par, and the sound that resulted sounded like some sort of small animal being strangled.

Her arms both flopped back down, mercifully where they should be, one on each side of her, and still mostly attached. She passed out again, for a shorter time it would seem, for when she opened her eyes, the pain still coursed through her, but she could feel her stomach and intestines healing. She lay for another hour, just healing, watching the waxing moon pass through the sky, and could feel that the full moon was only four days away. It was sometime after midnight, closer to morning than not. As the sky began to lighten a short time later, she regained feeling in her lower abdomen and thighs, and managed to prop herself up on her right elbow.

As soon as her legs were fully healed, she forced herself to get to her feet, though she would have liked nothing better than to lie back down and sleep for a month, she needed to re-set her left shoulder. _I should thank Bofur_ she mused with a bit of dark humor. When he had shattered her right shoulder, he had efficiently ensured that it could not be dislocated from the fall, as the entire arm had been limp and entirely relaxed when she hit the ground. Even the bones had not broken in as many places as the rest of her body’s had, as they had not been tensed up in anticipation of the landing.

She stumbled over to the nearest tree, blurrily lined up, and then slammed her left shoulder into it, forcibly setting the bone back into its socket. Hardly recommendable medical practices for a human, but at least it could now heal where it was supposed to be. However, as amazing and quite useful her healing may be, it could not make something out of nothing, and she had lost a lot of… everything… but mostly blood, in the fall, and she needed to find water.

It was only then, as everything that could heal appeared to be healed as best as she could hope, that she realized she was still naked as the day she was born. Clothes were not her first priority, but it appeared that her small bundle of clothes that she had tied to herself before shifting earlier that night had fallen with her. It lay in the small crater she had left, under the indent of her body. A hoarse, not entirely sane chuckle erupted from her at the sight. Completely disoriented after the fall and subsequent healing, she wondered if this was what it felt to be drunk. She had never allowed herself to try alcohol, worrying what would happen if she lost her control, though she doubted it would have much effect on her regardless.

She could hear and smell water nearby, _thank Yavanna_ , and she limped in that direction after slowly donning the clothes that were unfairly in excellent condition after the fall. She drank from the little mountain stream for a long time, taking slow sips of the water until she felt a marked improvement, then gulping it down as though she would never see the liquid again. After a time, she rose, feeling much, much better, and able to think clearly once again, for the first time since she had felt the eagle’s claws closing around her. _Now… Where is my pack?_


	17. Good First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or not so much...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! And please let me know what you think! (and yes, I know I'm an evil author with these cliffhangers. Hee hee... I can't help it. It's too fun...)

The trees passed by in a blur, and the wolf enjoyed the feeling of the wind against her muzzle as she loped easily through the forest. Though her newly-healed muscles were in fair condition, Asta had not slept since the few minutes she had caught in the cave before the Goblin’s front porch collapsed beneath them, and the exhaustion was slowly catching up to her. She was far from her strongest, but her speed at least, did not fail her.

            She had taken off at a speed that would put a sprinting warg to shame several hours ago, heading in the direction she thought she had seen the eagles flying as she had fallen. Once in a while, she could catch the very faint wafting of scent from one pack member or another, and as they gradually grew stronger and more distinct, she could pick out the individual members one by one. Dori. Oin. Gandalf. Fíli. By the time she scented the young prince, his scent was strong enough and steady enough she guessed the eagles had found somewhere to drop off their prisoners. The wolf spared a moment to wonder why the giant birds hadn’t taken the pack farther, for hadn’t the alpha said they traveled to Erebor? It was hardly a pressing concern, however, and she was grateful that they had not flown longer, for now it seemed possible that she may be able to catch up with the pack _before_ she collapsed from exhaustion. Maybe.

            Soon, she caught Kíli’s scent as well, and then Thorin’s. Bilba’s was next, the soft, cinnamon and floral scent was extremely comforting and familiar to the wolf, and she involuntarily chuffed happily when she realized she was closing fast. Perhaps this would end well after all. _Perhaps the worst is behind us…_

* * *

 

Bilba blinked, trying to follow Gandalf without stumbling into him, with little success. Her eyes were blurred with the tears she refused to allow herself to shed, as she silently mourned the quiet cursed human who had been a dear friend. Even the wizard held a quiet sorrow in his eyes, and the rest of the Company was somewhat subdued. Although she had only been with them a short time, and she had been very quiet and withdrawn, they had all grown rather fond of their human, each in their own way. Bifur and Bilba, however, seemed to feel the pain of her loss the most, although from the brooding expression on Thorin’s face, he doubtless felt responsible somehow, despite his words to the contrary. As leader, he clearly believed it to be his duty to ensure that everyone under his command was also under his protection, and he had somehow failed Asta.

The hobbit did not blame him for it, however, not for one second, and she knew the werewolf would not have either. So it was with a heavy heart that she continued, but she did not have long to dwell on Asta’s absence, for their pursuers had not given up. This pale Orc, Azog, thirsted for Thorin’s blood, and would not stop until one or the other lay dead.

It was decided, Bilba was the official burglar, so of course she was the one to scout out and find out where the Orcs and Wargs were at, and she was more than willing to report back as soon as she had glimpsed the fearsome Pale Orc once again, all set to sprint back to where the dwarves were gathered, waiting for her return, when she heard a very low, dark growl. She froze, at first, wildly wondering if Asta had somehow survived, but the growl had been somehow deeper, and more masculine than ever Asta had sounded, even if it had been nearly identical to what the werewolf sounded like when she was enraged.

However, knowing it could not be Asta, Bilba tried not to tremble at the realization that there was something else out there. She crouched low to the ground, peering around the side of the boulder she was hidden behind, and froze in horror and shock when she caught sight of a gigantic bear perched not 50 yards from her, watching the Orc pack with vicious, unrestrained growls. As soon as she deemed it safe, the hobbit turned tail and bolted, running for the Company as fast as her feet could carry her.

“How close is the pack?!!” Thorin demanded as soon as she came within sight, nervous and on-edge. “Too close!” she gasped, stumbling down the small incline and nearly crashing into Dwalin before she caught her balance. “A couple of leagues, no more. But that is not the worst of it!” Dwalin’s eyes furrowed, and he asked, “Have the Wargs picked up our scent?” She shook her head, but the fear did not leave her eyes. “Not yet but they will. We have another problem.” She stated, still catching her breath, and looking around at the dwarves as she did, trying to emphasize the danger they were in.

“Did they see you? They saw you?!” Gandalf asked quickly, jumping to the worst conclusion. “No, no that’s not it.” He smiled a bit then, looking to the dwarves as well. “What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse!” There were murmurs of agreement and even a few muted cheers from the dwarves at that, but Bilba grew more and more frustrated as they did not listen. “Will you listen? Will you _just_ listen?!” something in her tone finally caught their full attention, and they quieted in unison, waiting for her to continue.

“I’m trying to tell you, there is something else out there!” The dwarves did not seem overly concerned, although Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a glance full of dread, but it was Gandalf who spoke. “What form… did he take? Like a bear?” Bilba looked at him, her first thoughts jumping to Asta at the word ‘form’, but then she did a double take when she actually registered the wizard’s words. “Ye-Yes, but bigger! Much bigger.” Gandalf didn’t reply, looking both thoughtful and troubled, and the dwarves were instantly on guard.

“You knew about this beast?” Bofur demanded, looking betrayed at this subterfuge of the wizard’s. “I say we double back.”

“…And be run down by a pack of Orcs?” Thorin queried. There were murmurs at this, but before it could turn into another full-blown argument, Gandalf spoke once again, his voice cutting through clearly, though still quietly. “There is a house… not far from here, where we _might_ take refuge…” Barely had he finished speaking, than did Thorin cut in, looking skeptical. “Whose house? Is he friend or foe?”

The wizard’s reply was not encouraging in the slightest. “Neither. He will help us… or he will kill us.” The Company was yet further unsettled, yet when Thorin asked grimly, “What choice do we have?” and the wizard replied, “None” there were no arguments. The growl sounded again, much closer this time, and the dwarves followed Gandalf as he broke into a run.

They sprinted for all they were worth, running surprisingly fast for their height, and Bilba put her head down and followed the wizard’s guiding voice, unable to do anything beyond run for her life. As they came closer and closer to the house that Gandalf had spoken of, Bilba could hear something burst out of the trees from behind them, and she took a few precious seconds to glance back, seeing the huge bear closing fast, and it was then that Fíli, who was in the lead, after Bombur, who had picked up astonishing speed as he ran and was now in the front, went down. The prince’s foot had caught in a hole in the ground, created by some small animal, and his ankle twisted, causing him to cry out in pain.

“No!” Thorin breathed in horror, looking back at the bear as well, knowing there was no way they could get Fíli to the house in time. Still, there was no way by Mahal would they leave him, and so they had to try. Dwalin and Kíli stepped to either side of him quickly, hoisting him up by the shoulders, and hobbling toward the house as swiftly as they could. Thorin drew Orcrist, running behind them, dancing sideways as he covered them, hoping he could buy them enough time to get to the house. He could not slay such a creature in combat, but perhaps he could stay it long enough to save his nephews and his men.

The dwarves continued to run, coming closer and closer to the house, but the bear was almost on them by now, and Thorin finally stopped completely, turning fully to face it, and snarled at his death before him, and the bear impossibly sped up, it’s front paws extending to tear into the dwarf before it, when out of the corner of his eye, Thorin caught sight of only the barest blur of something small, dark, and impossibly fast.

The claws of the nearest paw were mere inches from the king’s face when the blur slammed into the side of the gigantic beast with enough force to knock it entirely off its paws and roll twice. Thorin stood, eyes wide in complete shock for a moment, then stumbled back a few paces, towards the house and the Company, who were shouting for him to run, to hurry, and he did so after glancing back once more at the two animals rolling around, tearing huge gouges in the earth when they missed a blow, and in each other when they hit their target. He managed to catch a glimpse of the smaller, darker animal, and it appeared to be some type of wolf or warg, though it was hard to tell.

The exiled king heard a pained whimper from the smaller animal as it was caught in the bear’s powerful jaws and tossed aside like a child’s toy, and the bear focused in on him again, moving to strike once again, but miraculously, the other animal managed to get to its feet and spring desperately at the bear, tearing into it again, and distracting it long enough for Thorin to back away once again. Finally, he snapped out of his surprised daze, and sprinted for the house once more, noting that Fíli and the others were now safely inside, and beckoning desperately for him to enter so they could lock the door. As he ran, the vicious and bloodthirsty growls and snarls echoed behind him all the way up to the house.


	18. Another Shifter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this really isn’t a better cliffhanger than the last chapter. Sorry! But not sorry, cause this is entirely too much fun! (Can’t believe I have been able to update this much this fast- I’m on a roll... that is likely to end with this chapter… oops…) Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! My sincerest gratitude to everyone who had reviewed/commented! If I haven’t answered you, rest assured I did at least read your feedback and was extremely grateful for it!

            Closer… So much closer now, the scent of her pack. So close she could tell that they had eaten bits of jerky in a rushed meal as they moved, clearly having been dropped off upon the peak of the strangely shaped rock formation before her. Asta grinned, an exhausted expression, but unmistakable nonetheless. She could smell her pack, her alpha, her… pack. Only pack. So why did the wolf once again fixate upon Fíli’s scent? The woodsy, leather-and-steel scent was distinct even amongst the other, stronger scents surrounding the elder prince. His scent was comforting, familiar. He smelled of home.

            Asta shook her head slightly even as she continued to force her body to run. She must have been even more tired than she thought, if even her senses had begun to play tricks upon her mind. It must have been the exhaustion too, that dulled her senses to the point where she was legitimately startled when the stench of Orcs and Wargs reached her nose as well. _They still hunt my pack? What on Arda did Thorin **do** to this Pale Orc? _

            The werewolf suppressed a whine, which likely would have come out more human than wolf, as she forced herself to increase her pace, running at a breakneck speed. She could not allow any harm to come to her pack. Not from this Orc, not from anything. The land gradually evened out, stretching into more densely wooded forest, though the trees began to thin out again quickly enough, even to the point where the wolf could see an opening far ahead.

            She was now close enough to her pack that her sharp hearing could detect Gandalf shouting out something, and she caught sight of dwarfish footprints upon the ground. The wolf could have laughed, had she been human, in sheer, utter relief, and crooked her ears to listen with all her being, hoping to hear their voices again even as she continued to race towards them.

            The scent and sounds of the bear hit her at the same time, causing her to stumble in shock. Had she been going any slower, she likely would have frozen in her tracks, though now she could only continue to run. _It smells like a bear, and certainly sounds like one, but how large would such a creature have to be, to make so much noise? And its scent is… off… I can smell something almost… Human?! Is this another shifter? Are there others like me?_

            Her thoughts were racing, and now, she caught a glimpse of a gigantic, dark creature lumbering at an incredible rate in front of her. From the size, she knew that it could not possibly be an ordinary bear, and the hope flared in her heart that it could be another shifter. She looked ahead of the bear, and saw her pack running for all they were worth, close enough now that she could see the strain, the speed at which they ran, and the realization hit her like a club to the head. _This bear-shifter hunts my pack!_

            Asta was briefly, distractedly surprised that the wolf did not immediately and forcefully take over at that realization. Though she was in her wolf body, she retained her human mind, though her instincts were sharpening again. She increased her speed once again, adrenaline and fear pushing her to run yet faster, and she burst into the clearing ahead, 20 yards behind the bear, just in time to see a familiar blond head at the front of the sprinting pack go down.

            Fíli’s pain was a tangible thing, she could smell it, his cry echoing in her ears, and she managed the fiercest snarl of her life, pushing her body to its very limits to reach him. When she drew yet closer, she saw his litter-mate and the alpha’s second lifting him to his feet, helping him to run to a structure right ahead. Her alpha stood between them, facing the bear with a look that prey often took right before they died, accepting of death while growling in its face at the same time.

            Asta saw the bear’s paw extending towards the dwarf as if in slow motion, and she tensed, coiling her body like a spring, before leaping with a powerful jump from her back legs to slam into the side of the bear with all the force she could muster. It was enough to knock it down, and it rolled a few times, with her still attached to its side. Immediately, she sunk her teeth into whatever she could find, the fur and fat of the creature making it difficult for her to do much damage, though her long, razor sharp fangs drew a great deal of blood.

            She clawed at the bear’s belly, angled her jaws towards its throat, snarling, snapping, trying to inflict whatever damage upon it she could, hoping to buy her alpha enough time. Within seconds, she felt sharp teeth sinking into her ribcage, the bear’s mouth stretching impossibly wide to close around her entire body, before she felt it jerk its neck, releasing her, and she couldn’t hold in a loud whimper as she flew through the air several yards before hitting the ground with a heavy impact that knocked the wind from her lungs.

            The wolf got to her paws immediately, though dizzily, and knew in that moment that she could not win this fight. Even if she were at her very strongest, well fed and well rested, and not having taken any dives off of cliffs recently, she realized that she would be unlikely to win a fight with a creature as huge and powerful as this. Not to mention that bears were solitary hunters, built to fight and hunt alone, while she, as a wolf without a pack (fighting with her), would already be at a disadvantage. _Nonetheless, I must fight. If my death be the cost of my pack’s safety, so be it._

            Asta looked up, only an instant had passed since the bear had flung her into the dirt, but it did not seem interested in finishing her off just yet. Her alpha still stood but a few steps away, staring at her dumbly, and _not running_. The bear quickly snapped its jaws, claws again reaching for the dwarf, and the wolf forced herself to coil and spring once again, slamming into the foreleg that had been mere inches from the dwarf, and tearing it around with enough force the turn the bear sideways.

            It had every advantage against her save one. While the beast was huge, stronger, and likely more experienced, the wolf had but one defense, her speed, which she used to deadly effect. She closes again first, in a foolhardy move designed only to catch and keep the bear’s attention, again getting a hold on the bear’s throat, although she is not able to reach deep enough into its skin to tear out its jugular. When she can sense Thorin had _finally_ begun to run, making it safely to the house, she let go of the bear and pushed off with her paws at the same time, landing a few yards away.

            By then, the beast was yet further enraged, bleeding from many places all over its body, although the concentration was greatest upon its belly and throat. Unfortunately, most if not all of those wounds were superficial, and served only to make the beast angrier. Asta, meanwhile, had many gouges from the bear’s claws up and down her sides, and she was already limping from where a particularly powerful blow from a foreleg had slammed into her left hip, breaking her own leg.

            From there, she tried to fight smart, darting in, snapping a wound, and darting back, trying to keep the creature at bay without getting close enough long enough for it to do damage. Wounded and exhausted as she was, however, it was only a matter of time before the bear suddenly twisted its jaws down with enough speed to get a good hold around her neck, and tore her off her paws, shaking her violently a few times before flinging her wildly into the ground once again.

This time, she stayed where she landed, whimpering involuntarily in pain, and though she tried to get up, she only immediately collapsed back down to the ground, twitching. She struggled once again to get back to her paws, only to fall down again, with a loud, agonized yelp. She lay there, watching the bear approach her prone form, and she could hear the beast, no longer growling or snarling, but now snuffling and grunting as it came near, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of death.


	19. Healing Laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Some comfort to go with the hurt! My logic is probably flawed in my explanations for why everyone is utterly blind to what is right in front of them, but in my defense, I have been watching Merlin again, and I may or may not be modeling the dwarves’ observational skills after Arthur’s. It would explain a lot ha ha. Anyway, if you see anything superbly obvious and foolish, please let me know! (And let’s just pretend that Beorn has clothes that will fit a human because… reasons… *sigh* I have no idea. Just pretend that part makes sense.) Otherwise, enjoy! And my gratitude once more to everyone who has reviewed/commented! It is greatly appreciated!

            Her eyes shot open again when, instead of merciless fangs and claws tearing into her helpless body, gentle human hands touched her shoulder. At least they were shaped like human hands, though they were at least three times as large as hers. She managed to lift her head a fraction, looking up at the human who now knelt beside her. “What..?” she tried to say, though it only came out as a confused whine, as she was still in her wolf form.

            A deep, growling voice very similar to the snarling of the bear she had just been fighting spoke, gentle and quiet. “Shh. Rest easy, young one. You have much healing to do before you should attempt to rise.” Asta tried to focus her blurry eyesight, and was able to make out a gigantic human, though his face still resembled that of a bear. He had full, bushy eyebrows and the same dark eyes as he bore in his animal form.

            Asta let her head drop back to the ground, slowly shifting back to her human form as she tried not to move. The bear shifter gently and carefully lifted her from the ground with ease, her weight nothing to his strength. As she felt him walking whilst carrying her, she let her eyes slide shut again as the exhaustion that had dogged her for so long finally caught up with her, and she lost consciousness.

* * *

 

            When next the werewolf woke, before she even opened her eyes, she was hit with the strong and very _present_ scent of dwarf. Her eyes shot open, and she bolted upright, looking around desperately for her pack. “Easy!” a familiar voice urged quietly, gentle dwarfish hands catching her shoulders and easing her back down to sit upon the pallet she had been sleeping on. “F-Fíli?” she murmured softly, confused. Asta’s eyes widened when she remembered the events of the last few days, and she locked her gaze on his quickly. “The al-Thorin? Is he alright? What of the rest of the p-Company? Are they all safe? Was anyone harmed?”

            It was only after she had demanded these answers that she remembered she was speaking to the nephew of not only her alpha, but also the nephew of a king, and she hunched her shoulders a bit instinctively. “I-I mean, your majesty. Sorry…” Fíli looked rather bewildered at that, but he managed a smile and said, “Nay, Asta, you need not call me by any fancy titles. Even were my uncle crowned and upon his throne now, you are a part of the Company, and I would not stand on ceremony. For now, I am but a warrior of the Line of Durin, and a prince I hope to become only when Erebor belongs to us once more.” His eyes glowed fiercely as he spoke, and the werewolf was rather distracted by the mesmerizing sight, but she refocused when he continued. “As for the Company, we are all safe and free from harm. We were most concerned for you… Though then our host appeared, carrying you, with no explanation. We had feared you had perished upon that cliff…?”

            His tone made it a question, and Asta struggled to fight back her panic and come up with a suitable excuse. “I-I-I… Do… Do you know of our host’s-um- other half?” she queried, vague half-plans forming in her mind as she tried to stall for time. He watched her with concern, but nodded. “Aye. He is a skin-walker. A shape-shifter, if you will. He has the ability to turn into a great bear, in which form he also chased us all the way up to his house.” Asta feigned surprise convincingly, widening her eyes and letting her fear of discovery show, hoping the dwarf would think it was for the story. “You are certain none of you came to harm? Why would he do such a thing, if he is now hospitable?”

            The golden prince shook his head in confusion, replying, “I am at a loss. Perhaps he has less control in his animal form? Perhaps the animal took over for a moment, but as a man, he did not wish us harm… What of it? I assume you asked whether I knew for a reason?” She nodded, mind racing, and spoke quickly before she could lose her nerve.

“I asked if you knew of his bear form because that was how I first met him. He must have smelled the Orcs and Wargs too close to his territory. When I was in the tree, I was close to the base, and I was hiding in the branches at the bottom. I saw the eagles carry you off, and I thought Thorin might be dead and I guess I just panicked. I managed to get back to ground, but by the time I did, the Orcs had taken off after you, so I just followed them, sort of, and then I ran into the bear. He did not try to harm me, but took me back here. I suppose I must have fallen asleep at some point on the journey here. Perhaps he set me down at some point when the Orcs drew too near, changed forms, chased you, then returned for me? I do not understand it, but it is the best knowledge I have of what may have taken place…”

            As horrible a lie as it was, the dwarf seemed to believe her, offering a sheepish smile and muttered apology at the Company’s departure without her. They spoke quietly for a few minutes more, Asta enjoying the proximity to him far more than she likely should have, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She noticed that she and the golden prince were in a room with a small window open to the outdoors, the scent of honey and wildflowers very prominent, with the subtler scents of the forest, and of course, _bear,_ in the background. The room appeared to be some sort of makeshift healing ward, as there were two pallets upon the ground, and clean bandages nearby, though off to the side. A quick mental evaluation of her body revealed that she had healed fully from the fight, and she wondered if the prince and the pack even knew she had been injured.

Glancing down to check for incriminating blood stains, she realized that she was now clad in simple garments foreign to her, although they smelled strongly enough of the bear that she could hazard a guess as to the source. She couldn’t complain, however, as _her_ clothes were likely completely destroyed somewhere in the woods. Then she caught sight of the bandages wrapped around the prince’s foot, and she brushed her fingers against his ankle gently, quirking an eyebrow in question.

            He ducked his head, looking somewhat embarrassed, and muttered, “I- ah… I tripped when we fled from the bear, and twisted my ankle. It heals swiftly, probably far more swiftly than you are used to, as a human. We dwarves are a hearty race.” As he finished, he puffed up his chest and made his voice arrogant, though his eyes twinkled with mirth. Both human and dwarrow chuckled at that, although Asta found amusement in both of his comments rather than just the last.

As they laughed, Asta’s ears picked up the sound of heavy dwarfish boots nearly dancing at a swift tempo, and the scent of Fíli’s litter-mate grew suddenly stronger than the muted and varied other scents of her pack. Within seconds, Kíli burst through the door to the chamber the two were in, a wide grin upon his face. “What madness is this?! Doth my noble brother deign to lower himself to laughter in the presence of peasants?”

Asta looked up with wide eyes at that, but managed to maintain her grin at the humor. Kíli noticed the surprise, though, and he sobered a bit, smiling gently at the human. “Bilba mentioned you might be a bit royal-shy. She didn’t go into any detail, wanted to protect your privacy, but she just commented that if you started acting different around us, or uncle, it was likely because the Goblin King happened to drop that bombshell. Gandalf actually told her he had said it, heard about the taunting and your reaction from Ori. He said you were acting rather… odd… in the tunnels, and you looked somehow more scared when that creature mentioned that uncle is the rightful king of Erebor. I just wanted to let you know our rank really doesn’t matter to us, not with the Company. And please don’t call us any fancy titles or anything!”

Asta glanced at Fíli, who quirked a brow, his expression saying ‘I told you as much’ more clearly than words could, and grinned at her. The werewolf found herself ducking her head and blinking back tears, astonished and grateful for their reaffirmation of pack, regardless that they would have no idea just how much it meant to her. The princes, however, misinterpreted her tears, and rushed to comfort her, Kíli apologizing for being so blunt and for somehow offending her. She had to look up at that, eyes still glistening with tears, though now she found herself laughing once again at the ludicrous idea that he had offended her. She reassured them that she was merely grateful for their kindness and humility, and couldn’t keep the foolish smile off her face. It had been many years since she had laughed such a great deal. She had missed it.


	20. Reunited

When they emerged from the private chamber, Asta hung back a bit, letting the brothers take the lead as she pondered what she would say. When they emerged, the dwarves let out a great cheer, and Asta froze, staying in the shadows by the doorway, not wishing to be in the way whilst the pack celebrated their prince’s recovery. While Fíli was still limping a bit, favoring his ankle, there was no doubt he would be healed within a few days at most. However, when the pack surged forward, while many clapped the elder prince on the shoulder, most moved right up to her, and she looked up with wide eyes when they clamored around her, patting her back or shoulder gently but joyously, while they expressed their delight that she was yet alive and with them.

Overwhelmed and awed once again at the love and acceptance of her pack, Asta felt a genuine smile of sheer relief and joy cover her face, and she embraced as many members of the pack as she could. Bifur and Bombur, especially, seemed delighted that she was well, with the robust dwarf hugging her and lifting her off her feet to spin her in a full circle, and the war-wounded dwarrow muttering urgently but happily in Khuzdul, embracing her as well. The dwarves were all speaking at once, chattering excitedly and quite loudly to one another, and it was only when they began to fall silent that Asta glanced up, nervous without quite knowing why.

The alpha stood before her, an unreadable expression in his icy blue eyes, his arms crossed. The werewolf took an instinctive step back, for although she did not smell anger or even sharp discontent upon him, that did not mean he was pleased with her. “Y-your majesty” she murmured, managing an improvised bow. However, Thorin shook his head at the obeisance, and gestured for her to stand tall. “Such formalities are unnecessary. I merely wished to express my joy that you are unharmed and with the Company once more.” Asta tilted her head slightly, as a subtle mirth appeared in the alpha’s depthless eyes. “Do try to keep up from now on.”

            That said, he reached out and gently clasped her shoulder, expressing wordlessly that he truly was relieved at her well-being. Behind the alpha, Bilba narrowed her eyes, clearly upset with Thorin’s seeming carelessness with Asta’s very life. However, when she moved forward as if to speak with him, Asta shook her head very minutely, but it was enough to stay the indignant hobbit. “Thank you, my lord. I will attempt to remain with the p- the Company from now on.” She dared a slight smile, and he nodded then turned aside and began to converse with Dwalin.

            The moment the alpha stepped away, Asta darted through the pack of dwarves, and wrapped herself around the hobbit, daring to bury her nose in the Halfling’s curls, and inhaled subtly, her wolf nearly prancing with joy at the reunion with her first pack member and the knowledge that the whole pack was safe. She merely held onto Bilba for a moment, and then startled back in shock when she scented the salty wetness of tears, and looked over the hobbit, trying to find a wound she had missed. “Bilba? Are you well?” she ventured, when none of her senses indicated that the hobbit was physically injured beyond a few surface scratches here and there.

            The hobbit shook her head, wiping away her tears, and then grinned at the human who was, against all odds, alive and as well as she had ever been. “I am quite well, now that I know you are still among the living!” she exclaimed happily, then glanced at the dwarves, who by now had migrated to a very large table in an adjacent room, distracted by the feast laid out upon it. Bilba lowered her voiced, and leaned a bit closer, muttering, “You owe me a bit of an explanation, Asta” she hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “You fell. Did you not?”

            The werewolf glanced at the hobbit, wondering if she could manage to give Bilba the same story she had given Fíli, but the sharp edge to the hobbit’s narrowed eyes said otherwise. Sighing a bit in defeat, Asta’s shoulders slumped, and she nodded. The hobbit hissed as her fear was confirmed, but Asta appeared entirely healed from whatever damage such a fall would have caused. She would have asked more, but then Asta glanced behind her, her eyes widening in fear and concern, and in the next instant, the hobbit found herself behind Asta, a protective hand keeping her behind the werewolf’s back. Peering around the other side of the human to get a glimpse of what had spooked her so, Bilba saw their temporary host emerging from a door to the outside, covered in dirt and almost entirely naked, covered only by a pair of ragged breeches.

            Asta, meanwhile, had been too caught up in the sights and scents of her pack to notice that the potent scent of bear had slowly been growing stronger, until she heard footfalls too close to the door, and saw it opening to the beast, who was in his human form. She immediately moved the hobbit behind her, for although the dwarven prince had assured her that their host was now accepting of the pack’s presence in his house, she was still unsure of his intentions toward her, and uncomfortable with another shifter so near to her pack.

            The hobbit looked between the two, and then moved around Asta, walking past Beorn towards the kitchen and the dwarves, murmuring as she went, “I suppose you two should have a talk then, hm?” Asta watched her go carefully, but the bear made no move toward the hobbit, and the wolf relaxed minutely when she was safely with the rest of the pack. They stood for a moment in silence, and then the bear turned back to the door he had come through, gesturing for the wolf to follow.

            Once outside, he turned to look her over, approval in his gaze. “You appear to have healed quite swiftly young one.” Asta inclined her head respectfully, still keeping her eyes on him warily. When he said nothing further, she managed a polite nod, and spoke softly, “I am grateful, both for your mercy and for your hospitality to my pack. I owe you my life, and the lives of my pack, for sheltering them from the Orc filth that pursued them.” He nodded in acknowledgement before answering, “You and your pack are welcome on my territory for as long as the alpha’s cub needs to heal. I do not like dwarves, but they are pack to you, and there are so few of us left I will not harm them for your sake.”

            She looked up into his eyes in surprise then, asking “You are not angry at my actions? I trespassed onto _your territory_ uninvited, and then attacked you!” He actually grinned. “You were merely defending your pack, young one. Had you done anything else, you would have forfeited my respect. As it is, I am glad that you are so protective of your pack. It would seem they need it.” That said, he turned once more and went back into the house, leaving Asta to marvel at her good fortune for once. Fíli could safely heal here, and the dwarves were safe from the Orc pack at the moment. She allowed herself to collapse into the soft, lush green grass near to the bear’s home, staring contentedly into the morning sky.

            After her moment of solitude, she went back into the house, speaking quietly with Bilba and Bifur for a time. She watched the dwarrows at the table, and once she was certain that Thorin had seemed to have eaten his fill, as well as Dwalin, she moved to the food, collecting some of the bread and honey before retreating to an empty corner to eat. While she was somewhat dismayed at the lack of meat, she was far past the point of hunger at which she would complain when any food was available. Ori sat quite near to the corner in which she had situated herself, but as soon as she sat down, he honest-to-Yavanna _squeaked_ , and stumbled to his feet. “Ori? Are you unwell?” she questioned softly, concerned. “Oh-Oh yes, Asta! I’m quite well; I j-just need to… speak with Dori! About something very imp-portant! So I should probably go and um, talk to him. Yes. Goodbye!”

            His heartbeat had spiked as soon as he saw her, and he smelled of… fear? Asta perked up instantly at the realization, looking around for any danger, but did not see anything out of the ordinary. She glanced down at herself curiously, wondering if there was indeed some blood on her clothing that she had somehow missed earlier, but everything appeared in order. By that time, the young scribe had reached his brothers, and was sitting half-hidden behind Nori, very determinedly not looking anywhere near her direction.

            Her nostrils flared slightly as she tried to nonchalantly scent herself. While she certainly did not smell of fresh flowers, her scent was no more offensive than usual. It couldn’t have been what drove the young dwarrow away now, but why had he acted in such a fashion around her? Seeing Bofur snatching a honey bun from the table, and looking around for an open place to eat it, the werewolf shyly gestured toward the recently-vacated space next to her. The perpetually cheerful dwarf grinned at the offer, and immediately moved over and situated himself next to her. While he had greeted her briefly earlier, they had not had much time to talk, and thus had not had much time to interact since before the catastrophe with the Goblin caverns.

            “I am delighted that you are alive and well, and with us once more lass! That was quite a fright you gave us, when Nori realized you hadn’t been taken with the rest of the Company by the eagles. Fíli told us the tale you told him; I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate further?” The question was asked in a friendly enough tone, although the dwarf’s eyes did not belie the shrewd intelligence within. Asta merely shook her head, eyes pleading for the dwarf to drop the issue, and shockingly, he did. “Alright then, lass. If you ever wish to speak, however, I would be more than happy to lend an ear.” She smiled and ducked her head, nodding gratefully at both the offer and the willingness not to push for answers she didn’t wish to give.

“Master Bofur-” she began, only to be cut off, as he exclaimed, “Lass, you really needn’t use formalities with anyone in the Company. Well, except perhaps for Thorin, but certainly not for myself!” she nodded, and then continued. “Bofur. I wished to ask, do you know if Ori is all right? He was acting strangely earlier. If I did not know better, I would have said he appeared afraid.” Bofur looked utterly baffled, shaking his head in denial. “Nay lass, he seemed just fine last I spoke with ‘im.” She hummed a noncommittal sound in reply, eating the last of her bread she had taken from the table, and eyed the scribe curiously once more. Why had he acted in such a strange manner, and only after seeing her? It wasn’t as though she was a threat to the dwarf…


	21. Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure, unadulterated fluff. You have been warned. Please let me know what you think! Good or bad, I would love to hear from you!

The remainder of the day passed rather slowly for the werewolf, which was a delightful and most welcome change of pace after the chaos of the previous few weeks’ events. Who would have thought that taking down three mountain trolls could have escalated into a cursed outcast such as herself finding a pack, of whom the alpha also happened to be a king, and that said pack was on a quest to find a mountain that contained a _dragon_ to reclaim their home? When the alpha had first spoken of the wyrm, Asta had been far too distracted by the possibility of losing her newfound pack that she had hardly registered what the dwarf had told her, but now that she had a moment to think on it, she wondered what any of their chances were against an actual, living, fire breathing dragon that could melt the flesh off their bones in the blink of an eye.

            She pondered the possible suicidal tendencies of her entire pack for willingly doing such a thing as she finished her food, before rising and making her way back outside. The grass and fresh air earlier had been absolutely wonderful, and she fully intended to take full advantage of this respite while it lasted. When she stepped out of the gate of the protective wall that surrounded Beorn’s house, she instinctively lifted her nose and scented the wind, catching the scent of fresh honey, bees, the woods, and… Thorin and Bilba? Curious, she padded silently along the outside of the wall a short way, until, there in the field, _picking flowers_ , sat the hobbit lass, appearing perfectly at ease. Standing only a few feet away, the dwarf king looked somewhat uncomfortable, but he appeared to be engaged in a conversation with Bilba.

            Asta may be half wolf, but even she knew better than to eavesdrop on a pair who cast (not so subtle) glances at each other in such a fashion, not to mention that one of the two was her first pack mate, and the other her _alpha_. She did not have a death wish, thank you very much. The werewolf quickly switched directions, moving to the opposite side of the wall, remaining close, but venturing a short distance into the soft grass dotted with wildflowers. She wiggled her toes, enjoying the sensation of the fresh sweet softness beneath her bare feet, even as she wondered what she would do for footwear now. These idle, insignificant worries were almost a relief, and her wolf was nearly purring in contentment within her at the lack of threat.

            Just then, a thought struck her, and that peace was gone as quickly as it had come. Her pack was still hunted, and though they might be under the protection of the bear for now, the Pale Orc could not have given up so easily. The last time she had caught his scent had been shortly before her own fight with Beorn, and it seemed that the orc pack wisely feared the powerful bear shifter, which would explain the invisible circle of safety that extended around Beorn’s home for a short distance. It appeared that the pack would be safe under his protection, so long as they did not stray too far. She surmised that the dwarves had already been told as much, else she very much doubted Thorin would risk his life or Bilba’s by venturing beyond the gate.

            Asta glanced about herself for a moment, ensuring that she was unobserved, before allowing just her face to transform, her fangs elongating, eyes lighting up, and nose lengthening slightly. Drawing in a deep, deliberate breath, she was able to catch the very faint stench of orc, and her eyes widened slightly at the distance. It would appear the Orcs were wary indeed of Beorn. The scent was so faint, it seemed as though the Orcs had… left? Why would they leave their prey, rather than waiting until the pack was no longer under Beorn’s protection?

“Asta?” The werewolf jumped in surprise at her name, immediately shifting back to full human, before turning, wondering why she had neither heard nor smelled the approach of one of her pack. Yet when she turned, there was none nearby. She tilted her head, confused, but then heard the soft query again. “Asta? You can hear me, can you not?” The werewolf was concerned for only a moment, before her mind caught up and she recognized the voice. “Mr. Gandalf?”

            She turned to look back toward the wall, and against the gate, the wizard leaned casually, calmly smoking his pipe. Even from that distance, she could see a spark of good humor in his eyes. Asta felt herself smiling in response, and darted closer to the wizard on light feet. “So you are indeed with us again. You had us all quite concerned when you fell behind.”

            The werewolf ducked her head, nodding. “Aye, though it was never my intention, I assure you.” Gandalf chuckled at that, “I suppose not, no. How are you feeling, scieppan?”

            “Well enough, sir. My other half has granted me healing enough to keep me alive, and I am as close to fully recovered as I can be for now.”

            “Good. You shall need your strength, for your journey will continue soon, and dark times lie ahead. Protect your pack, for they shall need your support in their travels, but do not fear to ask for their help should you need it. You are no longer alone.”

            With that, the wizard turned, and casually strode back into the gate, humming softly to himself. Asta stood staring after him for a moment, touched by the encouragement, when the heavy tread of dwarven footsteps alerted her to the alpha’s approach. She quickly stepped to the side, glancing behind her, only to see Bilba standing a few feet away, looking peeved, and Thorin stalking straight towards the gate, ignoring the werewolf and the hobbit alike. Despite his obvious rage, he paused beside Asta, looking her over briefly, before nodding slightly in acknowledgement and continuing inside, with nary a glance back at the hobbit. Asta bowed in return to his nod, then looked after him in mild amusement as Bilba came to stand by her side with a huff.

            “Did you have a bit of a lovers’ quarrel, my friend?” she murmured to the hobbit, when she was certain that the alpha was out of hearing range. “What? No! Thorin and I aren’t… we…” Bilba was reduced to sputtering, entirely unable to speak coherently at such a question. When she regained her composure, and opened her mouth to refute any such thing, Asta shook her head, her mirth finally getting the better of her as she began to laugh. “I jest, Bilba. ‘Twas only a jest.” The hobbit managed to glare at the honest-to-Yavanna _giggling_ werewolf for all of five seconds before she found herself joining in.

            “Hardly a worthy jest, Asta” she remonstrated, even as she chuckled. The wolf only shrugged, giddy with joy at her pack’s safety and happiness, having missed such joviality in the past few weeks. She found herself blinking in surprise when the hobbit moved, swifter than the unprepared wolf’s eyes could follow, as Bilba flung herself at Asta, wrapping surprisingly strong arms around her waist. “I’m so glad you are safe…” Bilba murmured, burying her face in the human’s tunic. Asta dropped immediately to one knee so as to embrace the hobbit in turn, breathing in her scent. _Pack safe. Happy. Warm._ Her wolf was extremely pleased.

            When they drew back, both smiling genuinely, Asta glanced up towards the house, and noticed the alpha speaking with Dwalin, just inside the doorway, though his sharp eyes were clearly upon the hobbit. “All jests aside, may I ask what happened with Thorin?” the werewolf queried, raising an eyebrow when the hobbit’s happy expression slid right off into a scowl. “It was nothing. He worries needlessly.” Asta followed the hobbit’s gaze to the field, and understood. “He doesn’t want you outside alone? For fear of the Orcs’ return? Surely he knows that they fear our host?” Bilba nodded. “However, as I am a hobbit, clearly I am incapable of defending myself, or running _twenty yards_ to safety by myself, and must always be protected by a **big strong dwarf!** ”

            She was nearly shouting at the end, and Asta was torn between secondhand annoyance at how Bilba had been treated, and amusement at Thorin’s (understandable) over protectiveness. With a sweeping, exaggerated bow, Asta spoke, “In that case, might I offer you a guard as you go about your quest to collect flowers, Lady Baggins? No foe shall get past me to harm you!” Both hobbit and werewolf chuckled at that, knowing it to be true, even if said in jest. Bilba accepted, equally sarcastically, and they meandered back out into the field, the setting sun painting a gorgeous backdrop in the western sky.

            Bilba collected her bouquet that she had dropped earlier, and knelt to pick a few more, conversing with her ‘guard’ all the while. She spoke of the events that had occurred while Asta was absent; of how the Pale Orc and his pack had chased them, and then Beorn had taken up the hunt, before Asta had reappeared. The werewolf, reminded of the hobbit’s own absence in Goblin Town, questioned Bilba regarding her disappearance then.

            Bilba told her readily enough of her fall, and the frightening creature that had called itself ‘Gollum’, but she seemed strangely hesitant to speak further when questioned about the game of riddles. Asta, curious after having been told of these riddles in the dark, had asked what truly _had_ been in her pocket, and when the hobbit answered, it was the first time she had ever lied to the wolf. Her heartbeat faltered slightly, a tell the wolf relied upon to know when one was lying, and she physically stumbled back a step at being lied to by her packmate.

            For her part, Bilba had thought quickly, and answered Asta’s query with the reply of, “Why, Bofur’s own pocket, of course! He tore it off of his coat, and gave it to me to use as a handkerchief, of all things, and I have kept it with me ever since.” Asta could tell that at least part of her answer was the truth, but there was a lie in there nonetheless.

            At the realization that Bilba felt she needed to lie to her, Asta began to growl, lowly at first, but gradually growing louder and louder until she was nearly vibrating with it, her fangs elongating and her eyes sparking into a glow. Bilba’s eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced fearfully back towards the house, before muttering quickly, “Asta! What do you think you’re doing?! What if one of the Company sees you?”

            The werewolf shook her head, fear in her own eyes, as the shift took over her. She fought it, tooth and nail, but the wolf would not be denied, and soon, claws had replaced her fingertips, her hands becoming paws, and the borrowed clothing slid right off as her bones broke and reformed into the wolf. Fur sprouted all along her body, and within seconds, a giant black wolf stood towering over the hobbit, confusion clear in her eyes. The hobbit cautiously reached out to her, whispering, “Asta? Are you alright?”

            The wolf ceased her growling immediately; gently pressing her nose into the hobbit’s trembling hand in reassurance, and then looked up. Night had fallen, and there, hanging low in the sky, shone the light of the waxing moon. It was the night before the full moon, and one of three nights in a month where Asta was forced to shift. Bilba followed her gaze, and when she saw the moon, her mouth fell open in an ‘oh’ of surprise and sudden realization. “Tomorrow’s the full moon, isn’t it?” she asked the wolf, looking back to her for confirmation.

            Asta nodded, relieved that her unexpected and unprompted shift had been nothing more than the moon’s power taking hold. Given the events of the past few days, it was unsurprising that she had lost track of the lunar cycle for the first time in years, though she vowed to herself to never let it happen again, lest the dwarves catch her at an inopportune time and discover her secret. Now, however, the wolf tugged at her mind, and the human let herself go, knowing that she had little enough choice, and that her body and mind would be her own once more in the morning.

            Bilba, meanwhile, took a moment to simply look over the wolf; no matter how many times she had seen Asta shifted, the tall, fearsome creature just did not seem to match up with the (usually) timid human she knew. Tentatively, (for though she had gotten over her _fear_ of the wolf years ago, it was still nerve-wracking for the hobbit to be so near to such a powerful and dangerous creature) she reached out again, and laid her hand on Asta’s shoulder, letting her fingers sink into the silky fur when the wolf did not react. Bilba found herself absently petting the wolf, when she turned and looked at the hobbit, amusement clear in her eyes even in her wolf form, and the hobbit jerked her hand back, muttering an embarrassed apology.

            However, the wolf followed her, nudging against her for more contact, and the hobbit resumed her petting, amused when Asta’s tongue lolled out contentedly. Bilba had read in her mother’s books that wolves were very tactile creatures with their packs, and did not fare well alone, so it made sense that Asta would enjoy contact while in her wolf form. Although the human was usually fairly quiet and shy, never initiating a hug or even a handshake, she always seemed more than happy to reciprocate when the hobbit made the first move. Bilba had even noticed Bifur and Bofur clasping forearms with her, and knew then that Asta had truly accepted the dwarves as her pack, even if she was still rather wary around the alpha.

            She was shaken from her thoughts when the wolf pulled out from under her hand, only to, more swiftly than the eye could follow, circle around the hobbit and nudge her in the back, hard enough to cause her to take a step forward for balance. “Asta! What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to turn to face the wolf, only to receive another push that sent her stumbling forward again. The wolf then darted past her, pausing a few feet in front of her and _wagging her tail_ , going into a half-crouch, with her forelegs stretched out and her back legs still straight, back end in the air.

            “Oh! You want to play, hm? Alright then!” the hobbit cried out, and with a battle cry only a hobbit could produce, she leapt playfully at the wolf, knowing even before she moved that the wolf could run all the way up to Beorn’s house and back by the time the hobbit reached where she had been. However, the wolf stood stock-still until the barest instant before the hobbit could touch her before darting away, running a circle around the hobbit before half-crouching again, her tail wagging non-stop.


	22. Playing With Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t clear, the dwarves end up staying at Beorn’s for a few days before they continue on their journey. This doesn’t interfere with their timing (to reach the mountain by Durin’s Day); they are ahead of schedule just enough days to balance it out. Once they leave Beorn’s, the timeline is about the same as canon once again. Please let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated, even if I am unable to reply!

_It had been many, many moons since the wolf had done more on a moon-night than hunt or run. Hunting was good. Warm, fresh meat and blood between the teeth after a wonderful chase. Yes. Hunting was good. Running was good too. Running through the forest, through fields, stretching out legs and increasing speed until everything was a blur. But this. This. This was… Better. Better than running. Better even than hunting! Play! Play with small-soft-packmate!_ Bilba, _the human reminded her. Play with Bilba!_

_Small-soft-packmate-Bilba was slow, loud, clumsy. But fun! So much fun! No pain, no fear, no pack-blood. Only play! Jump, duck, twist, roll, run! Play, play, play! Yes. Better than hunting. No food at end, but better. Pack-time. Yes._

_Small-soft-packmate-Bilba let out a growl. Stop. Why growl? Angry? No. Not growl. But what? Human! Why small-soft-Bilba growl-not-growl?_ Laughter. She is laughing. It is like hobbit tail-wagging. _The human explained. Tail wagging? By growl-not-growl? Laughter. Is good. Is play!_

_The moon rose in the sky, singing to the wolf. Calling for wolf to run. Not run! Not now! Play now! Run later! **Hunt** later! Play now! Play with small-soft-packmate-Bilba! Bilba slowing down now. Breathing like stag at end of hunt. Bilba… tired? Bilba small, soft. Tires easily. Must not harm pack. Must let pack rest. Tired. All done play. For now…_

***

            Bilba was breathless, laughter and exertion getting the better of her after nearly an hour of playing ‘chase’ with the werewolf. She found herself stumbling more and more often as she tried to keep up with the wolf, but eventually, she was nearly ready to give in. The wolf, seeming to sense her exhaustion, straightened up, pacing silently and deliberately up to the hobbit, before nudging her again, far more gently this time, and Bilba leaned on her shoulder gratefully. They moved back up towards the gate, the hobbit surprised that none of the Company had come looking for them, only to find Gandalf waiting at the door to the house, a pleased and curious expression on his face.

            “So this is Asta’s other half.” He murmured quietly, eliciting a nod from the hobbit and a chuff from the wolf. He turned to the hobbit then, “Bilba, the dwarves are all drinking and making merry at Beorn’s table. I have told them you and Asta needed to have a talk, but that you would join them when you were finished. I will remain here, and make sure none leaves the house this night.” Bilba smiled gratefully at the wizard, before moving inside, leaving the wolf and the wizard in the night, staring at each other.

***

            The morning sunlight streaming directly onto her face would really be quite nice, were she not _just waking up_. While she was grateful to be herself once again, the disorientation that came after every shift was a mild annoyance, to be truthful. Asta blinked a few times, sitting up and shaking her head few times to wake herself completely.

            Her memories of the night before were scattered and disoriented, but she could recall flashes of time here and there when the wolf was resting. A picture of Bilba, laughing and disheveled, running and playing with the enormous wolf. The wizard, watching the wolf through curious eyes, and the faint lingering feeling of the wolf’s disgruntlement. Curious, Asta closed her eyes, focusing more intently on the memory.

            _Bilba was leaving, and the wolf was displeased. Gandalf stood guard by the door, and she could hear the dwarves inside, some cheerful and celebratory, others solemn and watchful. The wizard watched her curiously, not hostilely, and the wolf’s feelings were… conflicted. On the one hand, she did not seem to recognize Gandalf as pack, presumably because he had not been there at the first meeting, and had authority with the pack yet was neither Alpha nor Alpha’s Second. Nonetheless, he was Pack-friend, so the wolf bore him no animosity, but neither did he deserve her respect, so she promptly curled into a ball, her back to him, under the open window and rested, listening to the sounds of her pack within._

            Brought back to herself, Asta chuckled at her wolf’s childlike behavior, grateful as ever that the wolf seemed to possess a great deal of intelligence, even without the human half in control. She did not kill needlessly, or mean harm to any who did not mean harm to her first. Well, that and prey, but hunting had been an important factor for survival in her life for far too long for such a thing to be different now. Not to mention how key hunting was in the life of any wolf, even a werewolf.

            She thought back over the night, contentedly watching different times through her wolf’s eyes, from waiting for the wizard to fall asleep and running out the gate the moment she could, to patrolling the woods nearby and running into the Bear again. Asta’s eyes shot open in shock, and she sat straight up, concerned, and checked herself for any injuries or blood, but there was nothing. Scenting the air, she caught her own scent, and that of her pack, but the scent of the bear was fairly faint. More present in the home itself than anywhere else, suggesting that he had not yet returned from whatever nighttime activities he had engaged in.

            She watched, wide-eyed, as the wolf and bear met, both in their most primal forms, but neither had caused harm to the other. The wolf relaxed a bit, then perked up as she registered the scent of food wafting from inside. It would appear that she had fallen asleep outside, sometime after the second meeting with Beorn, and she now rose, venturing inside in search of food.

            The dwarves were at table, none seeming the worse for wear despite the late night they had spent drinking. Bilba stood speaking with Dori and Bombur, something about tea, if Asta could hear it correctly through the rest of the din. The alpha stood with his Second and Balin, discussing how soon the pack might depart from the bear’s home, and how swiftly Fíli was healing. Bofur, Bifur, Ori, Oin, and Gloin were all tucking in quite enthusiastically to the feast that was once again spread across the table. The dwarves seemed to have no compunction with helping themselves to Beorn’s supplies. Fíli and Kíli were tucked into a corner, surprisingly quiet for once, as Kíli gently rotated his brother’s ankle, testing how far he was able to move it, while Fíli struggled not to wince in pain.

            The wolf winced slightly herself, sympathetically, but did not attempt to approach, knowing that they would likely appreciate space and as much privacy as they could get, in the same room as the rest of the pack. Asta, meanwhile, moved cautiously up to the table, ensuring that the alpha and his Second had already eaten their fill, before once again taking a few hunks of bread and a bit of honey and retreating.

            She retreated to another area of the house, finding an open space in another room that may have been a type of living room in another’s home. In Beorn’s, it had a low-lying table in the center, a few rugs on the floor, and not much else. The wolf stretched, allowing her stiff muscles to shift and joints to pop as she worked out the kinks of a long moon-night. She had just settled herself upon one of the rugs when the faintest whisper of cloth against skin betrayed the presence of another in the room.

            A quiet, steady, slow heartbeat was detected; calm, even breathing from the far corner of the room reached her ears. Without revealing that she had recognized the presence, the werewolf calmly inhaled through her nose, catching a scent of steel, leather, and sweat, as all the dwarves seemed to bear, as well as something faint she recalled from Rivendell. What could still have the scent of the elves upon it this far out? …An item taken from Rivendell herself of course. “Master Nori” Asta spoke quietly without turning.

            There was a pause, and that heartbeat stuttered in surprise, but there was no other sound, and the girl found herself impressed and not a little concerned at the skill of the Master Spy. Then, there came a low, rueful chuckle, and the red-haired thief stepped out of the shadows and came to sit beside her. “I must be losing my touch. Even Dori and Dwalin wouldn’t have been able to realize I was here. What’s yer secret, lass?”

            The werewolf tensed for a moment, before realizing the thief was jesting, and she forced herself to relax, knowing that of all the pack, Nori was the most likely to discover _what_ she was. “I can hardly tell you that, Master Dwarf. Some things are meant to remain hidden.” The thief seemed to consider this for a moment, nodding thoughtfully as he began to nibble on a piece of bread that he hadn’t had a second before.

            Asta’s eyes widened, and she looked down to the food she had taken from Beorn’s table, only to realize that she was holding only half of what she had taken when she had first sat down. She looked up to meet the dwarf’s blank visage with wide eyes, before blinking a few times in surprise. “Truly the tales of your skill fall utterly short, Master Nori” she murmured, fighting back the wolf, who demanded she attack the dwarf and reclaim her food.

He may have only meant the theft as a joke, or as proof of his abilities, but for the werewolf, it was much more than that. Eating in and of itself was a re-establishment of pack, including the hierarchies within, and a wolf, even a lower ranking one, would hesitate to share prey once claimed. Asta had found herself unconsciously waiting until the alpha and most of the higher ranking betas had fed before even considering taking food most of the nights on the road thus far, and even now in Beorn’s home, she did not eat until the alpha and his kin had finished. Although she was content with her place at the bottom of the pack, the wolf within was far more active now, the day preceding a full moon, and demanded that she assert her place once again.

Even with the play-fighting the wolf seemed to have in mind, Asta knew she could kill Nori entirely by accident if she attacked, and dared not let her other half attempt to re-take the food. _We are omega. Lowest in pack. Do not attempt to rise above this position again. Or should we attack Bilba to take her rank?_ The wolf’s reaction was immediate, fierce, and terrifying to the human, even though logically she knew that she could not hurt herself. _NO! No harm small-soft-packmate. Human not harm any pack. Not want harm sneaky-silent-thief. He can have food._ Then, grudgingly; _Share with pack. Understand. Not harm pack, or take rank._

Asta was surprised, as this was one of the first times she had ever communicated with her wolf when in her human body. Usually, the only times she was able to speak with the creature was when the wolf was in control, and the human was trying to keep her from hunting the wrong thing. She blinked when suddenly, the missing food had been replaced, and the thief was looking into her eyes curiously. “Ye feeling alright there lass? ‘Cause I could have sworn yer eyes were near glowing for a second there.”

The werewolf shook her head quickly, saying earnestly even as she rose, “Nay Master Nori, I am fine. I just need some fresh air, that is all. It was a pleasure speaking with you.” She bowed slightly and then departed shakily, not noticing the considering and curious look upon the thief’s face.


	23. On the Road Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have knack for writing only filler chapters of late. I hope that the next chapter will have some more action! Enjoy, and please, let me know what you think!

            The pack departed Beorn’s home later that morning. Fíli’s ankle was determined well enough for him to put his weight upon by Oin, and many of the dwarves were anxious to be on their way. Durin’s Day would wait for no dwarf, and they needed to be upon the slopes of Erebor herself before the last light of that day.

            Asta hung back a ways, remaining away from Nori’s speculative looks, and Ori’s fearful glances. The wolf still did not know what she had done to warrant such behavior on the youngest Ri brother’s behalf, but his blatant mistrust and wariness was unnerving. She resolved to attempt to speak with him once they made camp that evening before the moon’s pull grew too strong.

            Beorn bade them a warm farewell, his eyes twinkling when they meet those of the wolf and the hobbit, whom he had fondly christened “Bunny” when they had first met. He provided enough ponies for all of the pack, and Asta found herself perched precariously upon the back of the steady mount he designated for her, the animal surprisingly calm at the proximity of the skin-walker. The werewolf was extremely uncomfortable off the ground, her only previous experience with such a thing being in mid-fight, when she leapt upon her prey. The trolls were a particularly memorable example.

            Now, however, she tried to keep her balance, but had difficulty disguising her unease, if the teasing grin on Bofur’s face when he glanced back was any indication. She did not touch the reins, instead leaving them resting lightly upon the pony’s withers and trusting that the intelligent and docile animal would follow its herd. Thus it was that the girl found herself at the back of the pack, her pony plodding along lazily, and Asta was drifting in thought when she realized she was no longer alone in the back.

            The robust, fire-haired dwarf who was brother to Bofur had reigned his pony in so that it fell into step beside the human’s. “Mister Bombur” she greeted, confused but pleased to have company. “Miss Asta” he replied, just as formally, but with a mischievous look in his eyes as he said it, and the girl took the hint. “Bombur, then. May I help you with something?” The dwarf shook his head, looking around at their surroundings with a laidback air. “No, nothing at all. I just wanted to pull back a bit and enjoy this beautiful day.”

            The wolf grinned at the dwarf, not buying the innocent act for one second. She was grateful that he would take the time to join her so that she would not be alone, when he could have been up with the others, joking and laughing with his brother and comrades. He spoke softly as they rode, of his family, his life in the Blue Mountains, even of his hopes for his future life in Erebor. He seemed aware of the girl’s distaste for speaking overmuch, and was more than happy to fill in the silence with a soothing, steady chatter. Asta interjected comments or questions here and there, but on the whole, she was quite content to ride in silence listening to the dwarf’s stories.

            The stench of illness came to her first. Asta wrinkled her nose in disgust, as the sickly smell pervaded her senses and threw off her equilibrium enough to nearly send her off her mount, _again_. Curious, she tilted her head and tried to look ahead; wondering what could be giving off such a potent smell. Farther ahead, at the front of the pack, the wizard and the alpha were speaking in low tones, and Asta tuned in her hearing just in time to catch Thorin mutter something about ‘Mirkwood’.

Ah. Of course, the vast forest of the elves that yet lay between the pack and their home. Geography had never been the wolf’s strongest point, but she had traveled through the Greenwood once before, and she remembered well the same stench. Years had passed since, but the sickness seemed to have gotten worse, even in that short time, and the wolf wondered what it was that poisoned the forest so severely.

She remembered, in those days, she had remained in her wolf form more often than not, sprinting through the trees, and avoiding any traces of the woodland elves. Three separate occasions, she had felt dark eyes upon her, but whatever had watched the werewolf had not been hungry or desperate enough to risk a confrontation, and she had moved on unchallenged every time. The first time she had come face to face with any creature other than prey had been when she had met the two humans on the far side of the forest, as near to the Lonely Mountain as the wolf had ever gotten.

The pack drew closer to the forest, still unaware of how close the dark woods were, and Asta wondered offhand whether Sigrid and Bard had made it back to their home in Laketown safely. She had not thought of the two humans in quite some time; in fact, before her dream in the Misty Mountains, she had nearly forgotten the encounter. Now, as her pack approached the dark forest and the human city on the other side of said forest, the wolf hoped they had survived. Even though the male had tried to kill her, it was but the actions of a father protecting his cub, and she would hardly bear him a grudge for it. He had seemed to be an honorable man, and she wished him and his cub no harm.

Sooner than she would have liked, the sounds of the birds, insects, and countless other creatures around them grew distant, and an eerie silence was all the shifter could hear. She was comforted by the murmur of her pack, their voices, breaths, and heartbeats noise enough to ground her, and keep her from panicking, but the silence around them was unnatural. This, too, had been characteristic of the forest the last time she had walked its lands, but it seemed heavier than before, more threatening somehow.

Gandalf commanded them to dismount from their ponies and allow them to return to Beorn, and as the pack obeyed, Asta’s eyes snapped to the wizard in concern when his heartbeat spiked in something close to fear. There was no smell of fear in the air, and his manner was not that of frightened prey, but something had unsettled the wizard, and the girl felt a creeping feeling of unease come over her.

It wasn’t until he stated that he would not be going with them into the forest that she realized how deeply in trouble the pack truly was. Without the wizard, the pack had little defense against the darkness of the forest, and the Greenwood, last she knew, had been governed by the woodland elves. If the Rivendell experience was anything to judge by, elves and dwarves seemed to bear a long-standing hatred, and by Balin’s tales in the firelight some nights, the pack especially had it in for the elves of Mirkwood. Thorin bore a deep grudge against the Elvenking, Thranduil, and Asta did not desire further information. Any who held such deep hatred from the dwarf would be no friend of hers.

Bilba and the wizard spoke ‘privately’ for a moment, as the rest of the pack observed the entrance to the forest, and discussed the path they would be taking, and whether it was possible for them to reach the mountain by Durin’s Day, and many other things that Asta wasn’t listening to, because Bilba was _telling Gandalf about finding something in the Goblin Tunnels_. Once again shamelessly eavesdropping (she could hardly be blamed, she couldn’t even claim to have been raised by wolves), she heard the wizard ask, “What did you find?” Straining her ears to hear both the hobbit’s quiet reply and her heartbeat, the wolf’s eyes widened as Bilba replied, hesitantly, “My courage.”

Her heartbeat had done a little skip at that. Not entirely a lie then, but certainly not what she had been planning to say. The werewolf had nearly forgotten the moment the night before, caught up in the shift as she had been, when the hobbit had lied in response to her question, but now her curiosity came back in full force. What was it that the hobbit was so desperate to hide? Surely she had nothing to fear from the wizard, or indeed, from Asta herself. Why then did she lie to both regarding whatever had taken place in the dark of the Misty Mountains?

The werewolf was troubled, but respected her packmate’s privacy enough to leave the matter alone until the hobbit should speak of it, so long as no harm came to her because of her secret. After all, it would be terribly hypocritical for Asta to complain of Bilba keeping secrets from her when she had concealed her lycanthropy from the hobbit for many months before she had been found out. If the hobbit wished to keep her silence, Asta would not cause undue dispute.


	24. A Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A late, but slightly longer chapter! Yay! Please, I beg of thee, leave a comment! I want to get feedback! Please! My eternal gratitude, as always, to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorite/bookmarked/etc. Please enjoy!

While the wolf was glad to once again feel the solid earth beneath her feet, she still felt a slight sense of foreboding when the ponies took off at a gallop back the way they had come. There was a surprisingly small amount of grumbling from the dwarrows as they surrendered their mounts, but Asta was grateful that they did not attempt to betray their host’s hospitality. She could still smell the bear, and the scent was strong enough that she knew he was quite close, even then keeping guard against the dark pack that hunted her own.

            The sickly stench of the forest was nigh overwhelming now, and she found herself wrinkling her nose in disgust unconsciously before realizing what she was doing and forcing herself to stop. She could pick up the scent of other creatures moving about in the forest, but even they smelled _off_. Something was very wrong with these woods, but the alpha was determined to reach his home territory as soon as possible, and so into the forest the pack would go.

            Several hours of trudging later, the dwarves finally called for a rest, and Thorin tersely gave the command to make camp. Asta paused for a moment in the midst of collecting stray branches for a small fire when she moved past the alpha. She tilted her head slightly, inhaling in his scent. Even he smelled a bit different now… but the wolf was confused, for when she continued on her way, she accidentally brushed shoulders with Bifur, and the war-wounded dwarf retained the scent that had become quite comforting and familiar to her.

            Curious now, the wolf made an effort to find excuses to draw near to several of the other dwarves as well, subtly scenting Bofur, Gloin, Balin, and Nori, but none of their scents had changed in the least. All the dwarves gave off a sense of tired accomplishment, for they had traveled far that day, and though the darkness of the forest hung over them, they themselves were little changed. The alpha, however, was a different story. His scent was, in essence, the same, but a sickness had caught on, similar to, and yet still somehow different to the sickness of the forest.

            Asta was rather exhausted herself at this point, however, and decided to leave it lie for now. If he became worse, perhaps she could speak with Oin about looking him over, but for now, the alpha seemed well enough. Perhaps the darkness that lay above the forest was playing tricks upon her senses.

            Once the pack had made camp, bedrolls lay out and a fire started, the dwarves began to eat from the rations they had taken from Beorn’s home. Asta ate nothing, for she could already feel the beginning of the full moon’s pull upon her, an itching, uncomfortable feeling starting at the base of her shoulder blades, and she knew that this night, the wolf would hunt. She merely sat between Bilba and Bifur, listening to the lively conversation between the hobbit, Bofur, and Bombur, and occasionally making a quiet comment to Bifur.

            The dwarves ate quickly, and an argument started up regarding who would take first watch that night, as their usual schedule had been disrupted during the peaceful days at Beorn’s. Asta took the opportunity to approach the youngest Ri brother, his fearful actions around her still causing her concern. She was careful not to alert him to her approach until she was but feet away, knowing that otherwise, he was likely to attempt an escape.

            “Ori?” she murmured softly, when she was close enough. The young dwarf jumped slightly, before turning to face her with a small, very nervous smile. “M-Miss Asta! W-what can I do for y-you?” he asked shakily, obviously trying to put on a cheerful front, but the way he was minutely trembling was quite a giveaway to his fear, even if Asta had only been a human, and unable to smell, hear, and read it off of him.

            She deliberately kept her voice low and soothing, unaccustomed as she was to trying to be reassuring, “I wished to speak with you, if you would be amenable? I feel there are some things we need to discuss.” The dwarf looked side to side in a nearly comical manner, clearly searching for some means of escape, but he found none. Ducking his head slightly, he nodded in defeat, and shakily followed the werewolf when she gestured into the woods.

            Asta did not dare take him too far into the forest, for she did not wish to frighten him further, but she did want to speak to the dwarf in private. Once the two were out of earshot (for the dwarf, at least) from the others, Asta turned, and asked, “Master Ori, I pray thee tell me, what have I done, to give you cause to fear me so? I would never harm you, nor could I, I think, with your brothers and the Company behind you.”

            The dwarf twisted his hands a bit, looking distressed as well as concerned, and began, “I d-didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Asta. It’s only… in the Goblin Tunnels-”

            “Here now! What’s this?!” Dori’s voice rang out, angry and protective. The silver-haired dwarf stalked towards his youngest brother and the human. He had clearly seen Ori’s distress, and Asta retreated from his rage a few steps, eyes wide. “Leave him alone, do you hear me? The lad has enough to deal with; being in this cursed forest, without you dragging him off into the woods for Mahal knows what. You may be part of the Company, but you have no right to be harassing my brother, _human_!”

            He spat the last word out with something close to hatred, and then nearly dragged Ori back to the camp, the younger dwarf bright red with embarrassment at his brother’s words and actions. Asta stood, gaping in shock, before turning tail and sprinting into the trees, tears forming in her eyes. She ran for nearly an hour, although about halfway through she circled around so that she would remain near enough to her pack to protect them if anything should attack.

Her mind ran over Dori’s words again and again, and she whimpered at the memory of the dwarf’s rage, wondering how she could make things right again. She had not meant any harm to Ori; on the contrary, she had only wanted to clear up whatever had happened to make him fear her. But now, she had gravely offended a higher ranking member of the pack, and she had no idea how to fix it. So she ran, and felt the moon’s call, and waited patiently for full night to fall so she could let the shift overtake her and she could forget and just _be_ for a time.

* * *

 

Ori sat beside Nori, watching the Company as they went about their various tasks as they prepared to sleep that night. His brother and Bombur had been selected as the first watch, and Ori knew that he would not be able to sleep until Asta had returned to the camp, and so he sat beside his brother, staring morosely into the fire. He could not help but think that all of this mess was his fault for having such an active imagination. Of course he had not seen anything strange about Asta in the Goblin Tunnels! Why would her eyes be glowing? And, of course, it was impossible for her to have grown _claws_ and moved faster than the eye could follow. Clearly, the stress of the situation had caused him to see things that weren’t really there, and because of it, the human had been shouted at by Dori, just for trying to fix things!

The guilt clawed at his stomach, getting progressively worse the later it got, and the human still hadn’t returned. She had run off, alone, into the dark and dangerous forest, and even now none of the Company seemed to care. The dwarves had mostly settled in by now, and their hobbit had set up her bedroll near enough to Thorin’s to raise a few eyebrows, and was currently speaking softly with the exiled king. The human’s absence seemed to have escaped even Dori, who was currently snoring loudly next to Gloin.

Ori’s eldest brother had dragged him back to camp, gave him a scolding for wandering away from the Company, and then set out his bedroll and lay down with a huff, clearly still upset, though at that point Ori noticed a guilty cast upon Dori’s face as well. He knew full well he had overreacted, but he was a pure blooded, stubborn dwarf to his core, and likely would not admit it verbally until the day he died. Instead, he would try to make up for it in other ways in the following days, likely keeping a close eye on the human, mother-henning her and such, and making sure that she got enough to eat. This behavior would continue until the dwarf was satisfied that his reaction had been forgotten, forgiven, or overlooked. It was just the way Dori did things. For tonight, however, the human’s absence seemed entirely unnoticed.

“You trying to start those embers on fire again, nadadith?” Nori snarked, noticing the way his little brother had been glaring into the remains of their campfire as though it had done him a great personal wrong. When Ori glanced at him questioningly, the Master Thief sighed, and then gave him a shove. “Go after her then. She can’t have gone too far, and Thorin wouldn’t like it if she remains out there all alone for much longer, even if he hasn’t noticed as of yet.”

Ori was on his feet immediately, grateful that Nori was much less overprotective than Dori, even though he knew that if anything or anyone ever tried to harm him, there was no question which of his brothers would get there first to tear it to pieces.

He began to walk into the trees in the direction he had seen the human run, and it took only a couple of minutes before he found her, standing in nearly the exact same place as she had stopped earlier when they had spoken. It was out of earshot of the Company, and just out of sight, but still quite close by. He had been just about to call out to her when she suddenly began to remove her clothes. The dwarf froze in shock for a moment, before stammering, “M-Miss Asta?” confused and embarrassed at her state of undress. The human, now clad only in her undergarments, turned sharply to stare at him with wide eyes.

“Ori? What are you-no! There isn’t any time. You need to go back. Go back, **now!** ” the human’s voice deepened into something like a growl, and Ori found himself taking a step back in surprise and renewed fear. He looked into the human’s eyes, and nearly screamed when they suddenly started to glow. She grimaced in what looked like pain, and her teeth began to elongate and sharpen. Her fingertips darkened, as her nails lengthened and sharpened into lethal looking claws, and above her, the light of the full moon filtered down through the branches of the trees.

            Suddenly, Asta was bent in two, her face contorting in pain as her spine snapped sharply before reforming, the bones shifting visibly beneath her skin. The human groaned in pain, and her feet and hands began to take the shape of paws, as her skin began to sprout dark fur all over. “ **Please, Ori! Go back!”** she managed to slur through her fangs, just before her vocal cords shifted and reformed into those of the wolf.

            Ori could do nothing but stand in place, utterly frozen in shock and terror, looking on in horror as what had once been a human now broke and reformed into something else entirely. Mere seconds later, a huge black wolf stood where Asta had been, its glowing blue eyes locked on him.


	25. The Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, my thanks to everyone who has commented or left kudos on this! I am always encouraged to see that my stories are enjoyed. Please enjoy this next chapter, and don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

_No. Pack-fear. Pack-cub-fear. Not good. What has frightened the young dwarf? No smell of danger, no sound. The dark forest smells of illness and death, but there is no immediate danger. Why does pack-cub fear? The wolf moved closer, only to stop short at the terrified whimper of the young dwarf. She whined, wagging her tail and crouching closer to the ground. Not helping. Still smell fear._

_No danger in area. No predator. Only pack, so why fear?_ He fears us. _Why does pack fear us? Not harm pack! **Will not harm pack!** Comfort?_

***

            Ori felt as though his mind had simply shut off. He could not reconcile what he had seen with what he knew. Asta was… a wolf? What by Mahal had just happened?! Oh Aulë, there was a _wolf_ standing right where the Company’s human had been just seconds ago. And it was staring. At _him_! He couldn’t move, frozen as he was with fear and shock, but when the creature lifted its head a bit and sniffed at the wind, taking a few steps closer, he could not stop himself from letting out an involuntary yelp of fear.

            Surprisingly, instead of attacking him, the creature only whined a bit, wagging it’s tail and staying where it was. He tried not to tremble, wondering if screaming for help would only aggravate the beast and incite an immediate attack. He knew that, while dwarves were excellent sprinters over short distances, he would have little chance of outrunning this lean predator. Cautiously, he took a single step backwards, not looking away from the wolf, but this proved to be a mistake. He collided with a large oak that had been directly behind him, and could not suppress a surprised gasp. The wolf immediately moved, and it was so swift, he could see only a blur quite similar to the one he had spotted in the Goblin Tunnels, and then the creature stood but inches from him.

            Instantly, he dropped to the ground, huddled against the trunk of the oak, and pulled his arms protectively over his head, quiet panicked whimpers escaping him, as he waiting to feel fangs and claws tearing into his flesh. Instead, a cold and wet nose pressed into his forehead, and the creature snuffled, scenting him. Then, a warm tongue licked at his skin, and the dwarf yelped again, flinching back.

            Several minutes passed, and he was surprised when there was no further contact from the creature. Finally, tremblingly, he lowered one of his arms just a bit, and glanced up. The wolf sat a foot away, it’s head cocked sideways curiously, and when he looked at it, it chuffed softly. Slowly, carefully, he sat up, lowering his arms, and looking up at it in a mixture of curiosity and fear. “A-A-Asta?” he whispered.

            The creature stood, shaking out it’s coat, before dropping to her belly on the ground and stretching out her front paws until they came within an inch of Ori’s boots, it’s tongue lolling out of it’s mouth in a wide yawn. It then placed it’s head upon the outstretched paws, looking up at him with those glowing blue eyes. Several long moments passed, before Ori, hardly daring to believe his own temerity, slowly and cautiously reached out a hand, and went to touch the wolf’s muzzle.

            When the wolf made no move to react aggressively, he gently laid his hand upon her head, shocked when she merely licked her chops and then nuzzled into his hand. He carefully began to run his fingers through her fur, automatically scratching behind her ears. The dwarf couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit when she began to pant contentedly.

            After several minutes, during which Ori found himself relaxing more and more, and even enjoying the feeling of the wolf’s surprisingly soft fur beneath his fingers, she suddenly perked up, causing him to flinch back a bit. Immediately, she turned back and nudged him reassuringly with her nose, before rising, and very, very gently taking the sleeve of his tunic between her teeth. It was only then that Ori realized that she had not once shown her teeth until then.

            The wolf tugged on his sleeve, and he cautiously got to his feet, which made her let go at once. She then nudged him again with her nose, though it was hard enough this time to make even a sturdy dwarf stumble forward a step. He caught his balance, only just in time to receive another nudge, then the wolf darted around in front of him, looking back to see if he was following. Ori realized she was trying to lead him back to the camp, and he began to move in that direction, “You, erm, probably shouldn’t let the others see you… like this… I don’t think Dwalin would react favorably…” he muttered, looking at the wolf in concern.

            Fortunately, when he had come close enough to the camp to hear the quiet conversation of Nori and Bombur, who were due to be relieved from their watch in approximately an hour, the wolf suddenly turned and darted off into the forest faster than his eyes could follow. He made his way to his bedroll quietly, and had barely begun to sit, when he felt a shiver run down his spine. Ori looked up to see his brother staring at him, the thief’s hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion and concern. The young scribe shook his head slightly, but Nori seemed to misinterpret it, and instantly rose to his feet and made his way to Ori’s side.

            “You couldn’t find her?” he demanded quietly, already thinking up a search pattern and how to track down the missing human, when his younger brother interrupted. “No, Nori, I found her, it’s just that…” The elder dwarf looked into his little brother’s face, curious now. “What is it? Tell me, Ori.”

            Ori hesitated, and then looked up again. “It’s nothing, Nori. She is alright, unharmed. She just refuses to return to camp right now. I think she fears Dori’s wrath, but she swore she would remain very near to camp, and would return by morning. I think we should just leave her, and respect her decision, and privacy.”

            Ori thanked the Valar, Aulë, Mahal, and any other deity he could think of that Nori, after a moment of contemplation, finally nodded his agreement, and with a swift embrace for his brother, made his way back to Bombur and the remainder of his watch. He hoped that the wolf, who was apparently also Asta, would in fact return by morning, and would be, well, human-shaped again. Even while he lay there and fretted, the scholar in him marveled at the phenomenon, and he wondered if there was any lore regarding humans who could turn into wolves.

***

_The moon’s call sung through her blood as she paced lithely through the forest. Illness and darkness aside, these woods were still a marvelous hunting ground for the wolf, and she reveled in the chance to stretch her legs. Playing with small-soft-pack-Bilba had been wonderful, but the wolf had a great deal of pent up energy, that had only spiked with the call of the moon in the sky, and playing with a single hobbit had barely scratched the surface the night before._

_The trees began to blur as she increased her speed, and the wolf succumbed to the urge to howl, far enough now from her pack that her cry would be very, very distant to their weak ears. Uninhibited glee surged through her as she howled her joy, her very life-song out in response to the call of the full moon above. Immediately after she ceased her howl to draw breath, she was off again, racing through the trees, and only vaguely paying heed to the scents around her._

_**There**! A stag, it’s life-blood pumping hot and swift through it’s veins, the sweat and scent-markers of the prey-creature unmistakable. The wolf slowed, pacing around in a wide circle, entirely uncaring of the moment when her prey caught her scent and jolted, it’s head shooting up in alarm. She might have been a wiser hunter in times of need, but her human had been eating quite well with the pack, and this night, it was only a mild hunger in her belly. The rushing blood of the creature between her jaws would be reward enough for the hunt, though she also felt the urge to bring back her kill for the alpha’s approval._

No! Stay away from the pack! I will return in the morning. _Human insisted. Human foolish, but still frightened. Still wary of alpha. Why not submit to alpha, bring prey as gift and submit? Cold-strong-dark alpha is strong, fearless. Protects his pack. Why fear, when can submit? Part of pack, nothing to fear. Alpha will protect, not harm. We protect alpha and pack, pack protects us._ No. _Foolish human!_

_The wolf’s frustration with her human spilled over, and she leapt recklessly at her chosen prey, the brown stag falling to her claws and fangs before ever it had the chance to bolt. The hot blood of the prey soothed the wolf, and she panted happily over her kill once it lay still upon the ground. She tore into the meat, content, and when she had eaten her fill, over half of the carcass remained._

_Yes, human. Will not go to alpha. But part of pack. You do not let me submit, you must submit to alpha._ One-shapes are different. I have submitted, by following his orders, and swearing my loyalty to his Company-pack. I am part of his pack. You know this. _Know. Am part of pack. Why fear? We are pack, alpha protects pack. Why fear?_

_Human does not answer. Foolish human._

_The wolf rose, shaking most of the blood out of her fur, and then raced on swift paws back to her pack. She stopped at the outskirts, beyond the eyesight of the pack-night-guards, and then ran in a large circle around the entire pack several times, scent-marking the clearing as hers for the night. She then stopped in the trees, closest to small-soft-Bilba, and curled up comfortably, content that all of her pack was present, accounted for, and safe. The wolf slept._


	26. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks very much to everyone who has read and left kudos on this fic! It always makes my day to see the email. A HUGE thank you and shout out for all the reviews, they are always inspiring, and make me want to write more right away! I tend to fail at it, but the thought’s there. Anyway. I have no excuse for leaving this story as long as I have. Rest assured, it isn’t abandoned. I’m just really slow. Like, insanely slow. But, I haven’t given up. So, thanks for your patience, and have another chapter! (P.S. I’m glad the wolf-human interactions with Asta went over well! It’s difficult to write, but I love exploring the dynamic there.)

“No matter what may come, _stay on the path_!” The alpha’s dark glare was a most frightening sight, and Asta fought to keep from trembling as she stood before him with hunched shoulders and lowered head. The rest of the pack stood beside and behind him, facing her as a condemning force, and only Bilba and Ori stood awkwardly to the side, trying to be supportive for her without it being blatantly obvious to the rest of the Company. “What, human, was so very difficult to understand about those instructions?” the king demanded, nearly reeking of both rage and well-concealed concern. The wolf within was a constant noise in the back of her head, her emotions still raw from the full moon, demanding that Asta roll over and show her belly and throat, even as the human struggled to accept the dressing-down.

“I- I’m sorry, sir. I swear I had cause to r-remain away from the pack last night” she whispered, unable to meet her alpha’s eyes. He nearly snarled, and the expression on a one-shape’s face was no less terrifying than the snarls and growls of Beorn had been. “Whatever your reasoning, it is no excuse. There is a great deal of danger in these woods, and I care not how well you believe yourself capable, you had no cause to venture off the path, _alone and at night_!” Asta felt well and truly chastened, even while knowing logically that it would have been impossible for her to remain in camp that night. She was grateful that her nose had not betrayed her, or else she would think that the pack now held only hatred for her. However, she could clearly smell anger, concern, and even a bit of fear from most of the pack, and a very small bit of guilt as well, though she could not pinpoint the source.

It had only been through the poorest of luck that she had been caught sneaking back into camp that morning, human once more and dressed in the slightly dew-damp clothing she had left in the trees the night before. Bifur and Gloin had sat on the final watch of the night, both dwarves looking rather bleary-eyed as they awaited the teasing rays of early dawn to begin to turn to true morning. As she had entered the camp, however, exhausted as she was from getting very little sleep last night (the wolf had been extremely pleased with both her hunt and the successful interactions with another pack member, and had not wanted to sleep), she somehow missed the sprawled-out form of Kíli, several yards now from where he had originally bedded down next to his brother, and stumbled right into the sleeping dwarrow.

He had shot up with a startled noise, while the werewolf was unable to catch her balance in time, as caught off guard as she was, and landed right on top of the prince, knocking them both to the ground again. The commotion had been enough to rouse the camp, and even then, Asta might have been able to simply plead that she had needed to answer the call of nature, until Dori noticed that her clothing was wet with dew. Then, her bedroll was discovered, being stuffed with grasses and her extra cloak so as to give the appearance of someone within (Bilba had noticed the night before, when Asta had fled, and had unobtrusively set up the disguise, just in case any of the night-watches had decided to check on the Company). The uproar that followed still rang in her sensitive ears, and the wolf wished she could be anywhere but here as the pack stood as one against her.

“You will not do so again.” The dwarf-king’s voice was not only clearly a command, but spoken in a tone of voice that suggested that it was already decided, and he was simply stating such a thing to confirm it. With that, the alpha turned and went back to his sleeping place, preparing his bedroll for travel. When Thorin had turned away, most of the other dwarves followed his example, packing up the camp and preparing to head out for the day, most of them shooting Asta disappointed looks as they went. Even Bifur looked concerned, and when she glanced into his eyes, he shook his head slightly, looking away.

Asta was torn. She had never had a pack before, and it had been a very long time since she had had to concern herself with what others would think of her behavior in such matters. No one had cared where she had gone, or when, before she had come into this pack. Now, she had a pack, and they were concerned for her safety. She was unsure whether to be touched or upset that she could not justify her actions, but she knew that such a thing was impossible without revealing her other half.

While most of the other dwarves had gone to pack up, the eldest Durin prince had remained behind. Fíli had been silent throughout his uncle’s tirade, feeling concerned as the human had withdrawn into herself more and more until she was looking only at her feet, and whispering shaky replies to Thorin’s demands. Fíli had been just as worried as any when it was revealed that Asta had spent the night in the forest alone, but she was not a child. She had survived in the wilds alone for presumably years before the Company had found her that night after the trolls, and it was clear she knew how to handle herself. He stepped forward when none remained but the girl, and could not suppress a wince himself when Asta flinched at the touch of his hand. He kept it on her shoulder regardless though, and waited patiently until she finally managed to look up into his eyes.

“I am s-sorry” she murmured, looking down again at the concern in the young dwarf’s eyes. He furrowed his brow, unsettled at the meek and cowed behavior from the human. “You need not apologize to me, Asta. Please, realize that my uncle only spoke as he did out of concern. As a member of the Company, it is his duty to protect you, and he takes that quite seriously, with all of us. Thorin has a tendency to react with anger when he is unsettled, but he is not truly wroth with you. Surely by tonight all will be forgotten.”

The human’s countenance had lightened at his words, and by the time he had finished speaking, she had clearly regained her composure. She tilted her head, her dark blue gaze steady and contemplative, searching his own. She did not speak for a long enough time that Fíli found himself at a loss. He glanced away for a moment, the prolonged eye contact making him feel uncomfortable for no easily discernible reason. When he looked back, she had lowered her gaze as well, and when she spoke, it was to the ground.

“Prince Fíli, your kind words have heartened me. They will not be forgotten.”

Asta hesitated for a moment, seeming to be searching for further words, but then, abruptly, her head shot up, and her eyes found Bilba within a second. Confused and concerned, Fíli looked from the human, all the way across the campsite to where the hobbit stood, looking towards Asta. Bilba’s mouth was moving slightly, and she was clearly speaking with Ori. Nothing appeared to be out of place, but the human’s reaction would be more fitting if the Defiler himself had suddenly appeared behind the hobbit. All color had drained from Asta’s face, and she appeared utterly horrified.

“Excuse me, my lord” she muttered distractedly, sketching a half-bow before nearly bolting away, straight towards Bilba and Ori. The prince was left staring after her in bewilderment until his uncle’s harsh call pulled his attention back to the task of packing up the camp, and he joined his brother silently, musing over the human’s odd behavior.


	27. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuse as to why this is so late. It just is. Sorry! I’d love to promise more chapters soon, but life sucks. I have not yet abandoned this, though, and I don’t plan to. Many sincere thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It keeps me going (with the writing). Enjoy!

“So the term she uses is ‘werewolf’? ‘Man’ and ‘Wolf’?” Bilba nodded, glancing over at Asta with no small degree of concern. After Thorin’s sound berating, and the blatant anger of the Company, it was little wonder that the young woman was so withdrawn, but it appeared that Fíli had taken it upon himself to offer comfort. “As to your next question, she once told me that she has been changing forms since she was thirteen years of age, which to humans, is not yet of age, but nowhere near as young as a dwarf or even a hobbit.” Ori’s face had become utterly despairing and horrified for a moment, until he had heard the latter part of that statement, and realized that no, Asta had not been shape-changing since she was but a babe. Even so, that was still very young a child to be saddled with so great a burden with no assistance.

            The scribe had cornered Bilba the moment the Company had dispersed to pack up, and begun asking all manner of questions regarding Asta’s newly revealed other half. His curiosity was insatiable, having only previously met one shapeshifter, and that being Beorn, he had been able to learn very little of the bear. Due more to Dori’s over protectiveness than Ori’s own fear to ask questions of the giant, the missed opportunity still grated, and this newfound knowledge of Asta was intriguing to the young scholar.

            One moment, Bilba and Ori were speaking calmly and quietly on the outskirts of camp as the Company finished their preparations to leave, and the next, both had been seized by the nape of their tunics and quite literally lifted off their feet and moved several yards into the woods. When the world stopped moving, and their feet were once again upon solid ground, the hobbit and the dwarf turned as one to look at their captor, who looked none the worse for wear despite having just lifted and carried a few hundred pounds worth of living flesh for several yards in the span of a second. Asta’s emotions, splayed clearly across her face, were nothing short of terrified.

            “Y-You know now? What I a-am?” she stuttered, looking to Ori with fear. Concerned, Ori nodded. “Don’t you remember last night?” The shapeshifter paused, still fearful, but clearly trying to recall the events of the previous evening. Images of a forced shift, the full moon’s light filtering through the darkness of Mirkwood, and Ori’s terrified face as he tried to flee the wolf came to mind. Now horrified for an entirely different reason, Asta was at his side in moments, inspecting every inch of the young dwarf frantically.

            “What did she do?” she demanded. “Did she harm you? Did she… _bite_ you?!” Ori pulled away, quick to reassure her. “ _You_ did not harm me, Asta. I am well. I was frightened, but you comforted me, and kept me safe until I could return to the camp. All is well.” Taking a shuddering breath, trying to regain her calm, Asta nodded.

            Bilba spoke then, easily able to read the tension still running through the wolf. “Ori will tell no one of what he has seen, my friend. I explained your situation in full when I realized he had seen you on a full moon, and he gave me his word that not even to his brothers will he speak of it.”

            Asta slumped in blatant relief, backing up a few steps, and then looking up at Ori with wide eyes when she realized how she’d just manhandled them. “Sorry… for all of that.” She muttered sheepishly. “I just panicked.” Ori smiled, an easy expression, and moved to embrace the surprised human. “It’s not a problem, Asta. I’m just glad you’re alright. And, well, _human_ again. I hope you don’t mind if I ask-”

            “Ori!” Dori came stalking towards the trio, who turned as one to look at the older dwarf, and Asta flinched back, stumbling back a few paces when the events of the previous evening came back to her memory. “Forgive me, I think I hear Bofur calling.” She stated quickly, sketching a half-bow before nearly sprinting back into the camp, side-stepping Dori with a lightness of foot that was just this side of suspicious. She left two dwarves and a hobbit staring after her in mild concern.

            Heaving a half-sigh, she quickly took up her bedroll and armor, donning the latter haphazardly, and looked up, only to see Thorin standing before her, arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face. Balin stood behind the king, his eyes narrowed in irritation, though it seemed to be aimed at Thorin, and not the wolf.

            Asta instantly dropped to one knee, lowering her head and tilting it to the side just slightly so as to bare her neck to the alpha. “My lord.” She acknowledged, wondering if he would continue to berate her.

            “Rise.” His deep voice had gentled a great deal, and was a sharp contrast to the angry scolding of earlier that morning. “I have given thought to our conversation this morning, and I realize I was… perhaps, a bit harsh with you.” The words sounded forced, and when Thorin glanced back at Balin for a moment, only for the older dwarrow to simply raise an eyebrow, Asta sent the scholar a thankful glance. “Please, my lord, you need say nothing further. I was in the wrong, and I have already promised to attempt to do better in the future. You spoke out of concern for your pa-Company, and I am grateful.” She pushed herself to her feet easily, and bowed low once more before moving away, thankful when he made no attempt to stop her.

            She moved to stand beside Bifur, who took one look at her and then opened his arms, and the girl nearly fell into him, resting in his steady, comforting strength, grateful that he asked nothing of her. As she embraced him, hiding her face in his wild mane, she wondered if this was what it was like to have a family who cared about her.

            The wolf moved away after a moment, embarrassed, but the dwarf merely nodded once, and then moved back just a bit, a tiny smile playing across his face. A short growling of Khuzdul and the murmured replies in Common later, the werewolf walked at his side, grinning in return, as the company moved out.


	28. The Third Night

“No, Ori, you don’t understand! I… I _can’t_.” Asta nearly whimpered. The dwarven scribe furrowed his brow in concern at the wolf’s tone. “Asta, why? Thorin is-”

            “Uncle is what?” Ori yelped and stumbled back at Kíli’s sudden question, as the youngest prince spun around from shamelessly eavesdropping and demanded. “And what can’t you do, Asta?” The girl had jumped slightly as well at the prince’s quick speech, but she moved instinctively to catch Ori as he stumbled back, and she righted him effortlessly. “My lord, I-”

            Kíli frowned pointedly, and Asta ducked her head, shuffling her feet briefly. “ _Kíli_. I was just telling Ori that I can’t… Er…”

            “Kíli! There you are! Fíli was looking for you. Or, should I say, he _wasn’t_.” Bilba said with a grin, stepping in lightly, going to stand between the werewolf and the scribe, looking at the prince with a light of mischief in her warm brown eyes. “He mentioned something about trading your favorite dagger to Nori for…something. I wasn’t quite sure what, but he seemed to be a bit distracted. Now, let me think. Was it ‘traded’, or ‘gambled’?”

            Mild though the ruse was, it seemed to do the trick, as the young prince was out of sight in seconds, hunting down his brother for the imagined slight. Bilba turned to look at Ori and Asta with a mix of concern and exasperation in her eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for two minutes?” Asta grinned sheepishly at her old friend, while Ori crossed his arms. “Tell me now, Asta. Why won’t you tell Thorin what you are? Why have you hidden it from the Company? I’ll admit, I was surprised and frightened when confronted by a black wolf the size of a warg where you had stood not seconds before, but when you and Bilba explained everything, I accepted it. Accepted you. Why do you think our king will be any different?”

            Asta turned to face him fully then, allowing her eyes to spark a glow after glancing around to make sure all the other members of the Company were distracted by their own hushed discussions as they traveled through the depths of Mirkwood. “Because, Ori, I am a monster. A creature that he would put down at once if he found out. He’d see me as a threat to his people, and would not hesitate to kill me.”

“Menu gamut khed!” the dwarf nearly shouted, before realizing the volume of his outburst, and flushing slightly at the wide-eyed glances tossed his way from the others who were closest. Whispering again, the scribe murmured sheepishly, “…Um, that is, you shouldn’t say such things about yourself. You didn’t hurt me! You haven’t hurt anyone. So no, you’re _not_ a monster! You wouldn’t hurt the Company. You _protected_ us, in the Goblin Tunnels. You are a good person.” he reaffirmed.

Asta blinked rapidly in surprise at the young dwarf’s kind words, and she nodded briefly. “I am grateful. Still… I do not know that I could trust Thorin to listen first and kill later. If he decided I was a threat to his people… Please, Ori, you mustn’t say anything! Please. Perhaps, once this quest is over, I can tell him then, but I do not wish to be killed or cast out before this quest is complete.”

The dwarf acquiesced after a moment of thought, nodding reluctantly. “As you wish, Asta. I will keep my silence, as it is your secret to tell. But please, consider it. He might surprise you.” The young dwarrow clapped her on the shoulder companionably, and then wandered over to walk beside Nori.

The wolf watched him go fondly, before she was distracted by Bilba. “Do you really think Thorin would kill you so quickly if he were to find out?” Asta just nodded silently. The hobbit huffed quietly, but did not argue, instead choosing to change the topic entirely, as she began to speak of Bag End, and how very much she missed her comfortable armchair by the fire after a long day. Asta listened contentedly, the love brought by the pack-bond thrumming warmly in her veins.

***

The evening, the werewolf eyed the alpha with no small amount of concern, as she recalled the sound berating she had endured after last night’s events. Still, there was no way around her shift tonight. At least this was the very last forced shift of the month. If she could somehow conceal her activities this night, she might be able to last through the rest of Mirkwood, perhaps even to the Lonely Mountain herself.

“I’ll take first watch, I don’t mind!” Ori’s cheerful voice drew her gaze away from the exiled king, and she turned to look at the scribe curiously, only to hold still in realization when Bilba stepped up beside him. “I’ll sit with you. We can watch together. That way everyone else can get some sleep.” Exhausted as the dwarves were under the dark gloom of the forest, there was no argument, and soon, all but the three who knew of the wolf among them were still. The moon’s light slowly filtered through trees, and Asta fled.

***

Dwalin’s eyes opened where he lay beside his king, and Thorin met his gaze. “Follow her. Find out where she’s going, what she’s doing, and then bring her back to camp. I’ll deal with this in the morning. Make sure she doesn’t leave again. The forest is too dangerous for games such as these.” The powerful warrior nodded. “Keep watch, Thorin.” The king’s cousin advised. “Don’t forget that paw print we found when we departed this morning. Something dark stalks these woods.” Thorin nodded, and Dwalin rose, surprisingly silently for a dwarf, and departed into the darkness of the trees after the human, tracking her with relative ease.

 

 


	29. Caught

_Warm. Full. Tired. The wolf looked around the dark forest, snarling softly in distaste. Human was quiet. Tired. But content. No hunt tonight. Pack sleeping, left small-young-Ori and Bilba as night-guards of pack. Watch, but do not see. Seek prey? No. Protect pack. Mark territory. Warn off predators of forest. My pack. Protected. Mine. None shall harm._

_Footsteps, heavy, careful. Dwarf. Pack. The wolf stumbled in surprise. Alpha’s Second. First Beta. Second-dominant in pack. Why Second away from pack, awake? The wolf crept closer, watching the beta carefully. Bending over, looking at ground. Seeking… what? What did Alpha’s Second seek? Beta growls, quietly. Human-speak. Says wolf’s mind-pack-mate’s name. Seeks wolf? Should move. Go to him. Submit. He is Alpha’s Second. Second highest in pack._ NO!

“Asta? Come now, lass. This forest isn’t safe to be wandering. Didn’t you hear Thorin this morning? Did you not give him your word you would not do this again? Come back to the camp, lass. You could be hurt, out here alone. Please, Asta, I’m just tryin’ ta help you.”

_Beta summons. Why disobey? Will anger pack, anger alpha. Do not want to disobey. Foolish human! Second wants wolf there. Why not go there?_

“Mister Dwalin? Whatever are you doing out here at this time of night?”

_Small-soft-packmate-Bilba. The wolf’s tail started wagging. Bilba. First pack-mate._

“Miss Baggins, you shouldn’t be out here alone either!”

“Either? What on earth do you mean?”

The dwarf growled again. “It would seem our human didn’t quite comprehend Thorin’s command this morning, after she ran off last night. For now she has done it again. She could be in danger, but apparently she doesn’t much care! How are we to keep her safe if she continues to wander? She is part of the Company, and I would see her safe, but this is getting ridiculous.”

The hobbit paused for a moment, thinking. Then, she glanced at Dwalin with a considering look. “Master Dwarf, do you know of the ways of human women?” Suddenly, the large, powerful dwarf warrior looked very, very uncomfortable. “Well, that is… um…” Bilba just crossed her arms, suddenly merciless. “As an adult human female, Asta has certain… things, that she must take care of monthly. Would you fault her for wanting a bit of privacy when dealing with something so personal? Why do you think she was so reluctant to speak of it when questioned?”

At this point, Dwalin was flushing a bright red, and barely managed to mutter, “Of course. I apologize. I will _discreetly_ explain to Thorin that all of our concern was misplaced. If you would though, please, ask her to stay as close as possible to camp, just in case.” With that, the warrior turned and nearly ran back to the camp, muttering the explanation as quietly as possible to the equally as embarrassed king, and that seemed to be the end of it.

***

Bilba watched him hurry back, amused, and grateful that the more specific details of what she had alluded to were usually fairly obscure to even human males, let alone those of other species. No sooner was Dwalin out of sight, however, than did the hobbit feel a warm breath on the back of her neck, and sensed a very large creature just behind her. She only just managed not to scream, and turned around very, very slowly to see what it was, only to sag in relief at the sight of the giant black wolf.

“Don’t _do_ that!” she remonstrated, lightly swatting the wolf on the nose as she tried to return her racing heartbeat back to a more steady rhythm. Entirely uncaring of the swat, the wolf just darted forward even more, licking a stripe up the hobbit’s face, and then promptly spinning around once and laying down on her feet. “Asta!” She was ignored.

Once the hobbit managed to remove the enormous werewolf from her feet, she sighed in fond exasperation, and then turned to head back to camp. She had only gotten about halfway, however, when she was stopped short at the sight of Fíli and Kíli in the path ahead, the brothers clearly having also snuck away from camp, though whether they were attempting to follow Asta, Dwalin, or herself was anyone’s guess. “Does no one sleep this night?” the hobbit demanded, about at the end of her rope, and she would have gone on to further extol upon the many virtues of a good night’s sleep, and how if they wanted to stay up, then they might as well sit on watch so _she_ could sleep, but she was interrupted by the elder prince’s eyes widening, as he cried, “Bilba, behind you!”

Kíli reached instinctively for his bow, only to realize he had left it back at camp, and he wondered briefly, watching the huge black wolf in no little fear, if he would ever hear the end of it from Thorin, _if they survived_. Fíli, meanwhile, had drawn his swords, and was already running towards the hobbit, praying to Mahal he would be able to reach her before the wolf did.

It would seem he needn’t have worried, however, as the monstrous creature coiled and then leapt clean _over the hobbit_ , landing on the ground a mere yard from him. He instantly darted in, striking at the wolf with the speed of a viper, but the wolf was a blur, impossibly moving even faster. Before the prince knew what had happened, his swords had been knocked from his hands, landing on the ground several feet away, and he was pinned on his back by a massive, furry black paw on his chest. The wolf-creature loomed above him, it’s muzzle, filled with razor-sharp, gleaming white teeth, mere inches from his face. Fíli prepared himself to meet Mahal as he stared at his death before his eyes.

 

 


	30. A New Pet?

            _PACK!_

            Kíli watched in horror as one moment, his brother was on his feet, in his element, twin blades twirling in a deadly dance, and the next, his swords were skittering away, and the creature had him pinned to the forest floor. He sprinted, as quickly as his long (for a dwarf) legs would take him, to his brother, even while knowing it would be futile. He still had to try.

            Fíli waited, and waited, before finally shifting around slightly, wondering why the beast had yet to strike. Distantly, he heard his brother’s battle cry, and he wanted to call out, to tell Kíli to take Bilba and run, to save himself, but he knew he never would. He suddenly felt a cold nose snuffling over his face, and then a warm, pink tongue licked his forehead briefly before the weight that had pinned him was abruptly gone. Sitting up in a daze, the elder prince looked around, only to see the wolf on top of his brother, the creature’s tail wagging like mad as she licked his face. Wait, _licked his face?_

            There was no time to hesitate, however, for at any moment the creature could kill his brother, so Fíli swiftly scooped up his swords and rushed at the creature, stopped short only by the hobbit’s cry, “No, wait!” The prince paused, and the wolf leapt easily off of Kíli, racing back to the hobbit, tail still wagging as if it would never stop.

_Pack, pack, pack, pack!_

Bilba held out her hand, and the wolf snuffled into it before licking it enthusiastically, quickly pushing past it to try to lick at the hobbit’s face again, chuffing unhappily when the hobbit pushed her away, but yielding easily under the gentle hands nonetheless.

Both brothers had gotten to their feet now, and were staring at the hobbit and wolf with identical expressions of shock and incredulity. “Bilba, what… What is that?” She glanced at the wolf, who was now sitting beside her, panting happily as she absentmindedly scratched behind the wolf’s ears. “Erm… it’s a… a wolf, I suppose?”

The sons of Durin glanced at each other, and then back at the pair before them once again. “And… why is this ‘wolf’ here? Is it safe?” The hobbit looked at them with wide eyes. “I have no idea. But she-it, didn’t seem to have any ill intent when it leapt at you. It hasn’t hurt me. Are you both alright?”

Kíli nodded first, actually looking down to look over himself, but it was true. For all that the massive creature had leapt on top of him, he was left without a scratch. A brief moment later, and Fíli confirmed that he, too, was entirely unscathed by the encounter. “But what’s it doing here?” the younger of the brothers demanded. “I don’t-” the hobbit was cut off when suddenly, the wolf perked up, and then bolted off into the trees.

Seconds later, Dwalin emerged from the trees a second time, the warrior looking exhausted and beyond annoyed that his king kept on sending him out into the forest seeking those apparently unable to remain in camp and asleep. “Dwalin! There was a wolf!” Kíli yelped excitedly. The warrior glanced around quickly, hands darting to Grasper and Keeper for a moment. “Then perhaps we should return to camp, _which you should not have left in the first place_.” he scowled. “I will accept no further excuses. Let us go, before the creature returns.”

Bilba willingly followed the three dwarrows back to camp, listening to Kíli trying to convince Dwalin to allow him to try to track the creature. Apparently, he thought it would make a good pet. The hobbit repressed a chuckle, wondering if she should relay that little tidbit of information to Asta in the morning. Fíli, meanwhile, was quieter than usual, deep in thought, and Bilba cast him more than one concerned glance, hoping his sharp mind would not put two and two together regarding the Company’s human and the mysterious wolf.

When they returned, Ori challenged them before they could enter the camp, and a light of approval glinted in Dwalin’s eyes even as he identified them, and the young scribe flushed a bit. After another disapproving glare at the princes, he sent them firmly to their bedrolls, with strict instructions not to rise until morning. He then clapped Ori gently on the shoulder, murmuring a quiet, “Good work, lad.” to Ori, before going to his own place beside the king to sleep. Bilba went and sat beside Ori once more, who glanced at her in concern.

“Did he find her? Or were you able to turn him away in time?” The hobbit shook her head, and the dwarf sagged slightly in relief. “He did not find her, though I doubt through any fault of his own. He was seeking a human. She was a wolf, and, I might add, only about three yards from him when I found him!” Ori gasped. “But, he didn’t see her, primarily, I think, because she didn’t want to be found.” the hobbit finished.

Fortunately, the rest of the night passed without incident, and Ori and Bilba traded out shifts with Oin and Bifur about halfway through the night, barely sparing a glance at the forest where Asta had disappeared, before each went to their place and collapsed, Ori between Nori and Dori, and Bilba beside Thorin. And if the exiled king rolled in his sleep, his strong, work-calloused hand happened to brush gently against the hobbit’s, well, who was to tell?


	31. The Spiders

            It was mid-way through the next day that it came upon them. Asta was taken by surprise, if only because it was Nori who first showed signs of the shadow, eyes dimmed as he answered his king’s demand as to why he had stopped. “The path… it’s disappeared.” A haze had fallen upon them, and their vision was clouded, and the werewolf was no exception. As various members of the company offered suggestions as to where they could go, and how they might find where the path picked up, the wolf shook her head, sneezing once as she realized her senses felt… dimmed, somehow. And in more than just the typical drain she frequently felt post-moon.

            The pack wandered for some time, and Asta distantly wondered if she should point out that she could see something that rather resembled the path they sought a good distance to the side, but they seemed content to wander, and she couldn’t remember why it seemed so important.

            Strange murmurs passed through the woods, and the wolf, suddenly dizzy, had to take a seat beside Bilba for a moment to regain herself. As the hobbit idly played with a rather large spider web, the wolf pondered briefly the size, before recalling that giant spiders paced this forest. How odd, this haze upon her mind and senses. _Human! Wake and see the danger! Dark, evil, not-pack predators! Human!_

            “Hmm? What was that, now?” Asta murmured in confusion, looking around curiously to see who had spoken. Dwalin, who stood nearby, cast her a confused glance. “Who are ye talkin’ to, lass?” Asta shrugged, unsteadily getting to her feet again and following behind the dwarrow as he stumbled towards the others. She wrinkled her nose in confusion when Dori found a pouch on the ground that smelled strongly of Bofur.

            “This is exactly the same as mine.” The dwarf in question stated in surprise. “Because it is yours. Do you understand?” Bilba seemed rather upset, and Asta tilted her head curiously. “We’re going around in circles. We are lost.” _HUMAN! DANGER! DANGER TO PACK! WAKE!_

            “Danger?” she mumbled. “What danger?” Dwalin demanded, looking around immediately, but there was nothing visible. Asta looked at the intimidating Beta. “I don’t know. Someone keeps talking about danger. Telling me to ‘wake up’.” He blinked. “Lass… No one’s said that.”

            Her attention was drawn away when she smelled something all too familiar, and suddenly the wolf’s warnings registered, and Asta’s lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent snarl. Dwalin, meanwhile, was drawn into an argument with the others, and the wolf stalked a bit away, eyes glowing slightly as she looked up into the trees, the spider webs surrounding them suddenly making much more sense.

            “Enough! Quiet! All of you!” the alpha’s command froze her in her tracks, and she immediately turned back to the pack, eyes returning to normal as she awaited further command. “We’re being watched.”

            _Alpha knows now. Will protect._ Asta blinked, realizing the wolf had been trying to warn her, and then she whirled around, only to watch Bilba quickly scaling one of the enormous trees, and leapt up onto the boughs beside her, following the hobbit easily as she moved to look to find which way was East. “Bilba!” she whispered urgently, as soon as they were out of hearing range of the dwarves. “Bilba, please listen to me!”

            “Can you smell the fresh air, Asta? We’re almost there!” the hobbit quickly burst through the leaves at the top of the tree, clearly reveling in the fresh air as she cleared her head, but the wolf was hesitant to make herself so vulnerable. “Bilba, the spiders, they’re-”

            “I can see a lake!” the hobbit called down to the pack, so giddy at the fresh air that she did not at first register the werewolf’s warning. “And a river. And the Lonely Mountain. We’re almost there!” She grinned down at Asta for a moment, and then registered the fear in her eyes. “Asta?” The hobbit tried to look down to where the rest of the company waited. “Can you hear me? I know which way to go!”

            The wolf grasped the hem of the hobbit’s trousers. “Please, Bilba. The pack is in danger! We need to return to the ground.” Bilba furrowed her brow in confused concern. “Danger? But we’re almost out. We-” she cut herself off when the wolf’s eyes widened, her hearing clearly picking up something the hobbit could not detect, and then Asta leapt down from the tree, disappearing quickly into the darkness below.

            Sounds of struggles, and a sickening chittering sound came from below, and when the hobbit fell, she heard a much lower, darker growl, and her eyes widened even as she struggled against the spider webs that caused her to trip, falling several feet only to be caught by another web below. She was distracted by an _enormous_ spider suddenly appearing right in front of her, that same chittering noise coming from it’s maw, and she fell to yet another web, and was quickly wrapped up. Before her hearing was muffled by the spider’s silk, she thought she could make out a low, bloodthirsty howl that was quickly cut off down below.

***

            Asta fought, desperately, against the enormous arachnids that attacked her pack with a single-minded ferocity. As more and more of the creatures came, however, the wolf tired quickly, well worn out from the full moon’s pull the three previous nights. This, along with the darkness that pervaded the forest, drained her strength greatly, and she could not help but feel that she was fighting a losing battle.

            One by one, her pack was taken from her side, and she turned back and forth desperately, claws and fangs flashing in the dim light as she struggled in vain to protect them. When Fíli, one of the last still standing, was taken up, wrapped in too many webs for even his deadly blades to cut through, she couldn’t repress a howl that was equal parts rage and sorrow. _If nothing else_ , she mused to herself darkly even as she leapt onto the hairy back of one of the spiders, took her right hand, and used her claws to tear a hole right in the center of it’s neck. _At least my pack will be much too preoccupied with their own problems to notice my half-shift._

            She turned in a half-second, caught the snapping mandibles of yet another creature, and wrenched it to the side hard enough to twist it’s head clean off. She then hurled the head as hard as she could into yet another beast, impaling it in the side with it’s brethren’s exposed fangs.

A split second’s distraction was all it took in the end, as she was struck, hard, across the back of the head, and the wolf saw stars as she sunk to her knees reflexively, blinking rapidly and rolling to the side on instinct, only to be suddenly wrapped in more spider web than her sharp claws were able to cut through quickly enough.

She was nearly ready to give in, when she heard Bilba’s heartbeat, light and quick with fear, suddenly grow muted. In her state, wounded, exhausted, and surrounded by silk as she was, the wolf mistakenly believed the hobbit’s heartbeat to have stopped, and she _snarled_ , eyes suddenly glaring brightly, and she tore through the top of the webbing with her fangs, loosening it enough for her to maneuver her claws enough to tear through it. “ _Kill them! Kill them! Eat them now, while their blood is running!_ ” A flash of red in her gaze, and the human was gone.

***

_Kill. Kill. Pain. Kill. Small-soft-packmate-Bilba. Kill. Kill. Pain. Bilba! Duck, snarl, kill. Tear. Maim. Kill._

_The wolf tore through the dark creatures in a rage, tearing through their soft underbellies, ripping their throats out with her fangs, spitting out the vile black blood, and then repeating the process. Dimly, she registered small-soft-pack-Bilba above, waging battle of her own, and the wolf bared her fangs in a deadly grin as she howled encouragement to her packmate. Another down, and another, but these predators seemed endless. They threatened pack. Numbers of threat do not matter. Only death, to those who would harm pack._

_Small-soft-packmate loud again. Heartbeat clear. Taint of darkness muted. Kill. No time for ask, as humans do. Kill. Death. Throat. Death. Bilba alive, safe. Kill. Protect Bilba. Protect pack. Kill threat._

_Bilba’s claw, the ‘Sting’, freed packmates. The wolf looked up, understanding. With a push of her powerful legs, the wolf leapt up into the boughs of the trees, biting through the ropes-sticky-white bindings on the packmates Bilba had not managed to free before falling. The wolf released the pack, and then joined them in battle on the ground, growling her pleasure at **finally** fighting **with** her pack._

_Death. Kill. Tear throat. Rip through neck. Black blood, gushing. Kill. Human! Human,_ no!

Asta rolled several times as she came out of the shift, her ragged clothes now hanging in tatters, but still somewhat intact, though they were utterly soaked in the black blood of the spiders. She looked around desperately, but by some stroke of luck, the dwarves had all somehow seemed to miss her transformation. _Then again. They are still rather busy._ The werewolf grinned, spotting her swords several yards away where they had fallen off of her when she had shifted. She darted over, scooping them up easily, and grinning at lingering bloodlust of the wolf as she joined the battle once again, though this time, in human form.


	32. The Woodland Elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who had read this/left kudos/left a comment! Enjoy!

Bombur was pinned, and then on his feet again as others of the pack tore the spider on top of him into pieces. Another had nearly killed Dori, before one of Nori’s knives went flying half an inch from his brother’s head to land squarely in the center of the creature’s eyes. Asta’s blades flashed in a deadly dance, the little light still flickering down from the sparse gaps amongst the foliage shimmering along the blood-dripping swords.

            Halfway through decapitating a particularly large spider, the wolf suddenly froze, and it was only Ori’s slingshot, of all things, that saved her from a rather nasty bite. Eyes widening in fear, the werewolf spun around, the scent that had struck her almost as concerning as that of the spiders, and seconds later, the arachnids seemed to sense it as well. Elves.

            Less than a minute later, the Woodland Elves arrived, led by a lithe blond who seemed a touch arrogant, but not without reason. The easy authority he commanded amongst the troops who followed him led Asta to believe him to be some sort of Captain, perhaps even royalty of some sort, which was only confirmed when she heard one of the troops call him ‘ernil’. A prince, then.

            Asta tried to follow the elves with her sight and hearing as they moved about, swinging through the trees and lithely landing on the forest floor with feather-light steps as they quickly dispatched the remaining spiders, but they were swift, and it was difficult. A red-haired female also seemed to have some sway with the troops, as they obeyed her nearly as swiftly as they did their prince, and the wolf kept a close watch upon her as well, even as she continued to fight.

            She was caught between two of the spiders for a moment, and when the fighting grew fierce, she thought she could hear Kíli demanding a knife of red-fur, but Asta did not have time to focus on that, for the spiders had quickly identified her as one of the biggest threats, and were now attacking her en masse.

            The wolf managed to keep her feet, though one of her blades was knocked from her hand and lost in the shuffle. Tossing her left handed blade to her right hand, she grinned with blood-stained teeth, and continued to fight. Moments later, the fight had ended, and the elves turned on the dwarves. Asta sighed.

            “Some days. Maker, some days.” she whispered very quietly to herself. The prince had his bow trained on Thorin himself, but immediately after the final few spiders had been dispatched, he barked a quick command in Quenya, and not one or even two, but _four_ elves surrounded Asta.

Though after a quick glance at the alpha, the girl dropped her remaining sword and raised her hands in surrender, the two who circled around behind her struck quickly at the backs of her knees, forcing her to fall to the ground. They bound her hands quickly with a rope that was grey in color and light-weight, but had a strength that was not to be trifled with. No sooner were her hands bound behind her back, than was she pulled roughly upright on her knees, and more of the rope was wrapped harshly around the lower half of her face and jaw, binding it shut and forming a crude muzzle. She couldn’t help but pull lightly on the binds on her hands, but the elven rope held firm, and Asta suppressed a growl of fear. _There goes the hope that they did not realize what I am…_

“Search them” came the command in Common, after the werewolf had been bound and muzzled. As several of the elven guard obeyed, Asta was dragged over and dropped at the prince’s feet, and he glanced down at her in a mixture of wary curiosity and disgust. For her part, the wolf ignored him and her position entirely, choosing instead to roll her head around as far as she could to be able to see her pack, watching as they were relieved of all their weapons. Fortunately, it seemed the elves were much gentler with the dwarves than they had been with her, though it was clear they held no great love for dwarrow kind either, but Asta’s eyes widened in fear when she realized that the pack was one hobbit short.

The prince, after a final disgusted glance at the creature bound at his feet, moved closer to the pack, and Asta tensed, straining helplessly against her bonds as she yearned to stand between them and the elf who now had the pack under his power. He took a locket off of Gloin, and insulted his family, whose pictures were within, but Asta was more concerned with Bilba’s disappearance.

It was a struggle to refrain from growling in rage, but she knew that doing so would not help her chances of convincing these elves of her civility and humanity. Right now, it was clear they saw her as little more than a wild beast, and she knew that if she wanted to have any chance of helping her pack get free of this mess, then she would need to convince them that she was not a danger to any of the free peoples of Middle Earth.

The wolf choked once, as she attempted to chuckle through the muzzle, at the expression on Fíli’s face when the guard who was searching him pulled yet another knife off of the dwarven prince’s coat, but it quickly turned to a muffled snarl of rage when the elven prince accused the alpha of being both liar and thief.

 _He is the thief, as he has tried to take the alpha’s weapon! He has taken the weapons of all my pack!_ She wanted to cry, but she forced herself to remain silent, knowing the muzzle would not allow any of her words to be heard even if she did attempt to speak. It was only as two of the elves seized her by the biceps on either side and bodily dragged her to her feet, forcing her to stumble her way along between then, that Bofur seemed to notice their missing hobbit as well.

He urgently whispered to the alpha, “Thorin, where’s Bilba?” as they were taken away, and the look of concern on the exiled king’s face was both heartbreaking and encouraging to Asta. She hoped against hope that the hobbit would be alright, and she knew that if they all somehow managed to get out alive, that she would need to tell Bilba about Thorin’s obvious love for her. One does not look and smell so deeply of despair at the loss of a simple acquaintance, or even a friend. There was clearly much more going on between the hobbit and the dwarf-king than even Asta had suspected, and she prayed to whomever might be listening that they would all make it out on the other side to see that bond come to life


	33. The Elvenking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to chocolate, because that's the only reason I'm still up at 3 a.m. unable to sleep and therefore writing. Chocolate aside, however, I am extremely grateful to everyone who has commented to left kudos on this, and I offer secondary dedications to you all. Enjoy this later-than-anticipated-but-who-am-I-kidding-I-always-do-this chapter! Please feel free to comment if there's anything you'd like to see in upcoming chapters or if there's anything that's confusing or etc. Or just comment to talk about chocolate. I'm game.

Asta glanced at the two stone-faced guards on either side of her, curious at their oddly feral scent. The elves who dwelt in Rivendell had borne a similar scent, but it was much stronger here with these, and it intrigued the wolf. The repressed hatred and rage circling between the elves and dwarves, however, was more than enough to stay her curiosity at the time. The dwarrows walked bravely on, their general demeanor more like to one returning home victorious rather than being taken as captives before a hostile king.

            The strange darkness that surrounded Thorin had not dissipated with time as she had hoped. Instead, it seemed to only grow worse the deeper the pack ventured into Mirkwood. Asta could only hope that it left him once they got out of the cursed forest. _If we get out_ she amended, swallowing back a renewed wave of fear as a scent similar to that of the elf prince’s came to her, but much more _ancient_.

The wolf stumbled, losing her footing for a moment, but instead of roughly dragging her back to her feet or even striking her as she expected, the elves escorting her simply caught her before the momentum could take her to the ground, replacing her on her feet and continuing to move forward as if nothing had happened. She was grateful for their tact, and felt a tiny fraction of respect grow within her. These woodland elves were kin to Lord Elrond and his folk, after all, even if it was a distant relationship, and they had taken her pack.

As they were escorted up yet another walkway, the ancient scent grew stronger, and aside from the strange _other_ sense that all of Elf-kind seemed to possess, she also smelled… burned flesh? It was very faint, and clearly had not been a recent wound, but the owner of the ancient stench had clearly been wounded very gravely by fire at some point in the distant past.

A sudden low growl sounded, and the wolf startled, for it had not come from her throat. The alpha, who up until this point, had seemed increasingly enraged, had quite literally growled, and Asta glanced at him, trying to discretely shuffle away, although she was instantly held in place by the two elves still flanking her. She glanced up, then, to see what had caused his increase in rage, and froze in her tracks at the sight before them.

Distantly, Asta registered that the elves were taking the pack down below, but Thorin, still unbound, was taken up a final set of stairs, at the top of which was a spacious platform, and at the far end of the ‘room’, there was an elevated dais with a large throne made of wood. Asta remained bound, and her guards allowed her to lean against one of the pillars on the lower platform, the wolf’s dark blue eyes tracking her alpha as he moved to stand before the elven throne.

The intimidating elf sitting on the throne was… well. The king, apparently, and Asta was torn between fear, disgust, fear, anger, a grudging respect, and even more fear. She wondered if she should attempt kneel in respect to the king, but given the hatred radiating from her alpha, she decided against it, and just lowered her gaze while keeping half an eye on Thorin. _Do not harm my pack._

The alpha began to speak with the Elvenking, and Asta quickly realized they were speaking of times past and tuned them out, focusing her hearing on the rest of the pack. Clangs of iron doors slamming shut told of their fate, and the wolf hoped they had remained unharmed as they were locked up. She heard Dwalin’s gruff snarl of, “This is not the end of it! Do you hear me?!”, and something unintelligible from Gloin, before Nori spat, “Get off me!” Asta’s eyes widened in fear, but there was as of yet no sign of pain or scent of blood from the pack, and she acquiesced.

Then Kíli’s voice sounded, and the wolf choked behind the gag, torn between chuckling and groaning as he murmured to the red-furred female elf, “Aren’t you going to search me? I could have anything down my trousers.” Red fur replied scathingly, “Or nothing.” And Asta lost the battle, chuckling once behind her gag before falling silent at the sudden sharp gazes of her guards upon her. She heard the pack beginning to throw themselves against the iron bars of their cells, and then quickly turned her attention to the alpha’s conversation with the Elvenking again when Thorin’s tone changed.

“I’m listening.” His voice was much more mild than it had been for the entire conversation thus far, but he still reeked of rage and hatred, and Asta watched the exchange curiously. As the conversation continued, the wolf thought that the offered bargain was not entirely unfair. After all, it was said that there was more treasure in Erebor than could be counted, what were a few gems? But Thorin seemed unwilling to accept, and then Asta flinched when the rage in his scent suddenly sharpened yet further, and she watched as he tensed like a coiled snake waiting to spring, rounding on the Elvenking and finally showing some of his anger in his voice.

When Thranduil said, a smirking condescension in his voice, “You have my word. One king to another.”, Thorin snarled, “I would not trust Thranduil…” and then his voice rose to a shout, so that all within the ‘throne room’ might easily hear. “the _great king_ , to keep his word should the end of all days be upon us! You! Lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your _friends_!” he spat. “We came to you once. Starving. Homeless. Seeking your help. But you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of _my people_ , and the inferno that destroyed us!”

The nigh broken tone of intense pain in the exiled king’s voice tore at Asta’s heart, and she felt tears prick at her eyes as her own intense dislike of the Elvenking by proxy increased greatly at what she heard. Thorin spat out in Khuzdul then, too enraged even to continue in Common, and then the Elvenking finally spoke again. He spoke of dragon fire, of serpents of the North, and Asta’s eyes widened when the king, Thranduil, apparently, suddenly transformed his face, and horrifying burn scars were visible. This, then, must have been the stench of burned flesh she had scented earlier, and the wolf winced in empathy. Burns often hurt the most and took the longest to heal, even for her, so the agony this elf must have gone through to have left such a mark so long a time later must have been nothing short of excruciating.

However, her sympathy fled rather swiftly when Thranduil began to spit threats back at Thorin, threatening the dwarf and his Company with a hundred-year imprisonment, and ending with his condescending tone firmly back in place, “A hundred years is but a blink of an eye to an elf. I’m patient. I can wait.” And Thorin was dragged bodily from the highest platform.

As he passed by where Asta yet waited, bound and between two elven soldiers still, the dwarf’s eyes landed on her for the first time since their initial capture, and his eyes widened in shock. “You would even stoop so low as to bind an unarmed woman in so cruel a fashion, _D’hargel_?!” he shouted back at the elves as he was dragged away. “ **Ish kakhfê ai’d dur-rugnul!** ” he spat as the elves moving him along paid his struggles and insults no mind. The wolf looked up at her alpha and tried to reassure him with her gaze, but doubted that the muzzle would do much to convince him that she was well.

Soon, another clanging of an iron door could be heard from below, and then Thranduil’s silky and deadly voice came again from the throne. “And what have we here?” Asta paled as those haunting blue eyes locked onto her, and an idle wave of the king’s hand led to her guards dragging her up the final steps to stand where Thorin had stood a moment ago, the wolf trembling slightly. The king’s eyes narrowed. “A mindless beast? A creature of darkness? I will not have such a thing in my lands.” He glanced up to the soldiers on either side of the wolf. “Kill it.”


	34. A King and A Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can all blame CoffeeRanger for this one-left an absolutely lovely review and inspired me to write more. Who needs sleep when there’s fanfic to write?! No but really, my gratitude to everyone who commented/left kudos/etc. Enjoy!

 

            “Kill it.” The Elvenking’s cold voice held no emotion; his face a blank mask of indifference, but his eyes watched the wolf before him with a cold curiosity. The elven soldiers on either side of Asta checked themselves; their cool facades of collected control broken in their shock at the order, before the taller of the two hesitantly drew his blade and leveled it at her throat.

            Asta blinked, and _moved_. In less than an instant, reflexes faster even than that of the Fair Folk propelled her away from the live steel, dropping into a crouch as she kicked the blade from the soldier’s hand. She spun and slammed her body into the other guard who was in the process of unsheathing her blade, and knocked the female elf to the ground, following through with a vicious kick to her temple, and the female soldier lost consciousness. She turned again to face the male guard, fangs bared beneath the muzzle, her bound hands twisting and writhing desperately against their bonds behind her back as her glowing eyes assessed the threat before her.

            Two other guards had joined the first now, and the girl tried to back up a step as she was surrounded, the scents and sounds nearly overwhelming her as the wolf within chanted _blood, blood, blood_! Suddenly, a whisper of breath, and the muted scent of the Hobbit reached her ears, and the elven rope binding her wrists was abruptly loosened, not enough to fully free her, but enough that when she allowed only her arms to shift, it loosened her bonds yet further. When she returned her hands to their human form, they slipped right through the knots, and the wolf crouched, not daring to acknowledge the Hobbit behind her or wonder why she could not see her and could barely hear or smell her.

            Two of the guards lunged at her at once, and she went down, hard, twisting desperately and knocking one off of his feet, but the other evaded the kick and dropped his weight, hard, onto the werewolf’s shoulder, pinning her to the ground. She snarled, eyes lighting up again, and a clawed hand swiped at his throat, at the same time as his dagger plunged down towards her own.

            “Enough.” Thranduil’s cold, condescending voice held no sense of urgency, but both fighters froze in their respective places, and then the guards backed up several paces, allowing the girl to roll to her feet. Breathing heavily and keeping her peripheral vision on the elven guards around her, Asta heard the softest of footfalls retreating as Bilba quickly fled just as she had come, entirely undetected.

            The werewolf’s glowing dark blue gaze met the Elvenking’s icy one, and Asta struggled between her own fear and the wolf’s rage at the dangerous creature before her. She allowed her fingertips to remain shifted as she reached up slowly to slice through the muzzle with a single, deadly claw, and then forced back the wolf, her fingers, teeth, and eyes returning to their human forms.

            “Not so mindless, then? My people have heard rumors of a scieppan-wulf running the borders of Lord Elrond of Rivendell’s lands in recent years, but I did not believe them to be true until my son reported what he had found on a ‘routine’ patrol. Tell me, creature, what business you have with these _dwarves_?”

            Asta tilted her head slightly, and then forced herself to bow minutely. _A little humility goes a long way_ , she reminded herself, knowing that she was in no position to make threats and had little else to bargain with in this situation. “King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, I am, as you say, a shapeshifter, or a werewolf, as Men call me. I apologize for my trespass upon your lands, but these _dwarves_ , as you say, are pack to me, and I follow where they go. What business you have with our leader, I pray you take it up with him. Who and what I am aside, I am but a lowly member of his Company, and can offer you no further information at this time without his consent.”

            She dropped her eyes after speaking, the fear creeping in once more, though remembering this king’s treatment of her alpha allowed enough rage to temper the fear to manageable levels. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her response. “You have no need to remain with their Company, creature. I would have you leave my lands, and if you wish it, I will release you here and now, to be on your way, with your word never to return.” Asta narrowed her eyes, though she did not look up, and quietly shook her head. “No, Lord King. My place is with my pack, and I will not leave them.”

            The Elvenking fell silent, observing her curiously once more, and Asta wondered if he would renew his order to kill her, simply to be rid of her. “Aran Thranduil-” she suddenly spoke, looking up with desperate eyes. “Please, how many long years have you walked this earth? You know of what holds true value, and it is not of gold or gems. I beg you, why do you hold my pack here in captivity, all for the sake of a few jewels? Priceless or not, are they truly worth so much to you? Is this deep hatred between your peoples worth all that has been, and all that will come of this?” she pleaded.

            Thranduil finally, finally showed emotion then, his own rage breaking through his mask of calm, and he rose gracefully but swiftly to his feet, staring down at her with eyes like daggers. “Do not speak of that which you know nothing of, _urco_!” he hissed in a frozen tone. “The rumors spoke of a shapeshifter. They also said that you harmed no human or elf, and shed no innocent blood, and so I will not now take your life. Speak again of affairs that do not concern you, however, and you will know pain before you leave my lands.” With that, he snapped, and the three guards closed in on her again, much more warily this time, although Asta offered no resistance.

            As she was taken from the hall, unbound this time, she kept her eyes on the king’s, and the deep sorrow mingling with the more familiar rage in his gaze made her tilt her head in curiosity before she was taken out of sight.

***

            Asta sat in a cell, her knees drawn to her chest, and her head buried in her knees, arms hanging loosely at her sides. She resisted the urge to pant, and in an instant, she was on her feet, pacing back and forth, over and over again, only through sheer force of will keeping her eyes from glowing and herself from growling in impotent fury. The wolf within was enraged at being caged, and was not hesitant to let her know, and it was all she could do to keep her contained enough to not tip off her pack.

            Suddenly, she froze, and ears just slightly longer and more pointed than normal perked up and swiveled to the side ever so slightly. _Black Speech_. There were orcs nearby, and though the werewolf did not understand the language of the orcs, their presence so near to the Elvenking’s halls made her wary. It would seem the pack was hunted still, but there was no way to warn them without giving herself away, so she held her tongue and focused on the heartbeats of her pack members instead. When that didn’t work, she resumed pacing.

“Bilba? Bilba! Bilba.” She chanted under her breath, ears and nose straining to catch some sign of the hobbit, but she must have remained higher up in the palace, for the wolf had found no trace of her since the fight in the throne room. “Asta?” She froze, Fíli’s voice breaking her from her increasingly agitated pacing, and she realized that her last incantation of the hobbit’s name had been a bit louder than originally intended. The golden-haired prince was in the cell next to hers, and up the stairs just a few paces, and the wolf flushed slightly, suddenly grateful that he couldn’t see the state she had worked herself into. “My lord?”

“We talked about this-don’t bother with titles. It’s Fíli.” His warm, reassuring voice calmed both human and wolf as nothing else had, and she felt her rapid heartbeat slowing as she focused solely on the prince. “Fíli” she amended, and she could hear fond amusement in his tone when he replied, “Yes. Now, are you well? Do not fear for Bilba. I know she wasn’t taken with us, but she is very resourceful. I’m certain uncle will get us out of here soon, and we will find her then.” Asta nodded, and then realized that he could not see her, and replied quietly, “Indeed.” She dared not say that the hobbit was indeed as safe as any of them, trapped within these walls as surely as they were, for fear of one of the elven guards’ sharp hearing picking it up.

They lapsed into silence once more then, and the werewolf found that if she focused entirely on Fíli, his scent, his heartbeat, his breaths, that she could maintain her calm, and she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She very carefully did not think about the deeper connotations of the wolf’s near purring within her at the proximity of her m- _packmate_.


	35. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another wonderful review from CoffeeRanger, who I’m really wishing had an account on here right now so I could send a long and grateful reply, but I suppose I’ll have to settle for this. Thanks ever so much for the great reviews, and for sticking with this story despite the terribly erratic updates! Hopefully all your questions will be answered at some point, though it may not be for a while yet. May I just say, I really do love angst. *evil smirk* Anyway, my sincerest gratitude as well to everyone else who’s reviewed, commented, favorited, followed, left kudos, or read this story! Enjoy!

Asta had ceased her pacing, content to listen to the steady thrumming of Fíli’s strong heartbeats. The wolf fell into an exhausted half-doze, her recent lack of sleep due to the full moon combined with the following battle had drained her reserves of strength, and though they were in a strange place, none of her pack was in immediate danger, so she took what rest she could while given the chance. Her eyes fell half-shut, but she continued to listen to the gentle rustling that was the elder Durin prince readjusting himself before settling down again.

            The rare moment of tranquility was broken when a familiar set of footsteps broke away from the revelry a great distance above them as the elves celebrated, and Asta sat forward, human-blue eyes open and bright as the red-furred Captain came into view. The Captain moved on nearly silent feet as she glanced at each of the cells, ensuring the prisoners weren’t up to anything, and the wolf met red-fur’s gaze unflinchingly. The female Elf paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow, but Asta did not drop her gaze. This elf was not pack, and the wolf saw no need to submit to her in such a way. After a moment, the Captain tipped her head slightly in what might have been acknowledgement, before moving on.

            Curious as to what she might be doing so far from the raucous celebrations of her people, Asta listened as the Captain continued her patrol, and tilted her head to hear better when red-fur spoke to Kíli. The youngest prince’s voice was quieter, and far darker than Asta was accustomed to, and she grinned at the sudden spike of fear in red-fur’s scent when the dwarf told of the supposed ‘curse’ on the rune-stone. Her grin quickly turned to a slight frown of confusion when affection suddenly filled Kíli’s voice, and he told red-fur of his mother.

            As the two continued to speak, and red-fur seated herself, the wolf blinked, wondering what on Arda the alpha would think if he discovered his younger nephew becoming so… _friendly_ , with one of their captors. She tried to listen and pay attention to their conversation, but as they spoke of starlight and walks above the earth itself, the wolf was distracted by even lighter footsteps than those of the Captain approach from above. Red-fur, it seemed, was not the only elf who found little pleasure in the celebration above, for on one of the higher stairways into the dungeons, the son of the Elvenking stood, silently, and his usually pleasant scent was now tainted by jealousy and resentment.

            Asta, content that Kíli was in no immediate danger, rose to pace again, keeping on ear on the odd pair who seemed blind and deaf to all else but their conversation, and the other on the elven prince, who it would appear was content to lurk in the shadows and eavesdrop.

            It was some time later when the prince drifted off, and hours more before red-fur rose, quietly bidding Kíli a good evening, at which the dwarf snorted ironically, and departing. A few moments after the Captain was out of earshot, Bofur spoke loudly enough for all of the Company in their various cells to hear, “I’ll wager the sun is on the rise. Must be nearly dawn.” The normally cheerful dwarf’s voice was deadened and listless, and Asta almost whined at the despondency in his tone. It was just _wrong_ hear a dwarf like Bofur sounding so hopeless, but it wasn’t until Ori murmured despairingly, “We’re never going to reach the Mountain, are we?” that the wolf’s heart nearly broke.

Fili sat back, the thudding noise of his back colliding with the rock behind him jarring the werewolf into action, and she moved on silent feet to the bars of her cell, grasping the solid iron bars in a vicious grip and bracing herself to pull them apart. _I am getting my pack out **now!**_

            Just before she could set her strength to destroying the Elvenking’s prisons, Bilba’s scent suddenly returned, much sharper and more present than it had been since the spiders had attacked, and then the hobbit herself came into view, and Asta could have cried in relief. “Not stuck in here, you’re not!” Bilba proclaimed cheerfully if quietly to Ori, as she began to unlock the cells the dwarves were trapped in.

            The dwarrows began to call out her name, ecstatic, but were quickly hushed by the hobbit, who declared, “Shh! There are guards nearby!” She moved to Thorin’s cell first, and the look that passed between the two would have been cause for a lifetime of merciless teasing had any of the Company witnessed it. She then moved to free Balin, who graced her with a broad smile before hurrying on to Nori’s, passing the key to the Spymaster to finish the job once he was freed.

When the red-haired thief reached Asta’s cell, she was out almost before the door had opened, sparing a tiny, sharp grin for Nori, before hurrying to Bifur’s side, following right on the war-wounded dwarf’s heels as the pack rushed as quietly as a group of dwarves can out of the dungeons. She very carefully did not look behind her, as she could sense Fíli’s warm and reassuring presence very close by, and focused only on the salt-and-pepper mane of Bifur as she followed him down the stairs, all the dwarves following Bilba’s lead as she guided them.

They crept farther down into the depths of the Elvenking’s halls, and the wolf trusted Bilba, but she became mildly concerned when they approached two elven heartbeats. As it turned out, she needn’t have worried, for both ‘guards’ were heavily intoxicated, and had in fact lost consciousness due to indulging in too much wine. The Company crept past them, and then Bofur exclaimed in a whisper, “We’re in the cellars!” Asta ducked her head quickly, suppressing a grin. _What? No! I thought we were in the throne room. No way we’re in the cellars. We haven’t just been going down several staircases from the dungeons, or anything._

As the dwarves whisper-yelled at Bilba, and the hobbit argued right back, Asta shook herself from her thoughts and then blinked in surprised confusion when Bilba instructed them all to get _into_ several of the large wine barrels stacked in the middle of the room. “Are you mad?” the Second demanded, and the wolf took a step back from Dwalin’s frustrated anger, before instantly obeying when the alpha overrode his Second, commanding the pack to , “Do as she says.”

They all scrambled to comply, and once all of the pack save Bilba had found a barrel and climbed inside, they all peeked back out, and Bofur asked, “What do we do now?” Bilba visibly braced herself as she reached for a previously unnoticed lever, and muttered, “Hold your breath.” Asta’s eyes widened, and she instantly ducked back inside her barrel, bracing herself against the sides in anticipation of what was to come. Bofur was still confused, however, for he asked, “Hold my breath? Why?-“ before he was cut off as the hobbit pulled the lever, and the floor opened up, dropping the barrels into the waterway below.

Asta tensed, the fall and subsequent impact as the barrels struck the water disorienting her for a moment, but she retained enough sense to realize that Bilba had not come with them, and the wolf leapt from her barrel, trying and failing to land on the rocks beside the water, and crashing back into the river instead. Swimming quickly to the water right below the entrance, she had only just begun to consider how to climb the slick, steep rocks, when the trapdoor opened again, and the hobbit came falling through it, landing in the water right beside the wolf with a splash.

            She fought her way to the surface, and the werewolf stayed beside her as the hobbit floundered to the nearest barrel, Nori pulling her close when she came within reach. As Bilba clung to the side of the thief’s barrel, the alpha’s scent spiked with a dangerous joy, and he grinned sharply. “Well done Mistress Baggins.” Bilba just groaned softly and waved a hand at him as she clung to the side of the barrel.

            “Go! Come on, let’s go!” one of the pack cried, and they moved their barrels along with their hands to hasten their movement with the river’s natural flow. Far above them, Asta could hear shouting and yelling of the Elves as they tried to assemble a team to retrieve their missing prisoners, and the wolf paddled faster, thanking the Valar that she was a strong swimmer. She kept close to the hobbit, who in turn clung tightly to Nori’s barrel as the dwarves hurried along the river. They were making good time, and Asta dared to believe that they might yet escape with their lives _and_ freedom. Then, they went over the waterfall.


	36. Attack and A Second Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to clarify that Asta has remained in her human form since the fight with the spiders-so sorry for any confusion! I should really be careful how I describe her, as I use ‘wolf’ ‘werewolf’ and her name in equal measure to describe her in either form. Typically though, I will have some brief description of the shift, and I will usually try to have some of the wolf-half’s POV. Also, I would greatly welcome feedback for an upcoming scene. A few chapters from now, I’ll need to decide whether Asta stays back with Fíli, Kíli, Oin and Bofur in Laketown, or if she travels on with the pack to Erebor. Right now, I’m leaning towards the latter. Thoughts? Thanks for the wonderful comments, and to all who have read/left kudos/you know the drill. Always very much appreciated! Enjoy!

 

Asta gasped for air, dragging herself to the shoreline alongside Ori, coughing violently to expel the excess water from her lungs. The ride down the rapids followed by the fight had been almost too fast to follow, and the werewolf was exhausted and furious with herself in equal measure. She had _seen_ that arrow, heard the creak of the bowstring, and had she been even a fraction of a second faster, the alpha’s sister-son would not now be smelling of poison and suppressing whimpers of pain.

 _Orcs, everywhere. Kíli struggling towards the gate’s lever, risking his life to save the Company. The creak of the Orc-Second’s bow as he released a poisoned arrow towards the Durin prince. Asta leapt, exploding from the water, only to go down on one knee as an orc emerged from the bushes beside her, stabbing her beneath her bottom rib with a wicked blade. The distinct thudding sound the arrow made as it struck Kíli’s knee. The death gurgle of the orc who had stabbed her, his esophagus steaming on the ground beside his recently eviscerated throat. The look of shock on Kíli’s face as the pain began to register, as he stumbled._ Fíli’s cry for his brother.

Asta blinked, focusing again on Ori at her side, who resembled nothing so much as a drowned rat. Dwalin stepped up beside the lad and helped him onto dry ground with a firm shove before making his way to the alpha. Asta finished hacking, took a breath, and then forced herself to her feet, grateful that the river had washed away the lingering blood from her side wound. It had already healed to a thick pink line, and by the time the pack was together and assembled, she knew it would be as if the wound had never existed.

It took the Company several moments to orient themselves, but even as Fíli began to swear at… apples?, and Bofur and Bifur worked to re-orient Bombur, Asta’s focus was dragged to Dori as he hustled to his youngest brother’s side. The wolf casually edged away, dropping her eyes and lithely dodging to one side when it appeared that the elder dwarrow would brush against her. She stumbled over towards Bilba, who was looking none too happy about their little river ride, but mightily pleased with herself for having managed to burgle thirteen dwarves and a skin-changer away from the King of the Woodland realm. Asta resisted the urge to shake herself as she would in her other form, and instead settled for sneezing several times and then promptly falling over.

Bilba glanced at her in concern, but the wolf waved her off, taking only a moment to catch her balance again. A great deal of water had found its way into her nose and ears, throwing off  her senses of hearing and smell, as well as her balance, and it was likely due to this that it took her much longer than it should have to realize that they were not alone.

As Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and Bilba began to discuss, and then argue, as to their next course of action, Asta tilted her head, attempting to catch a more defined scent that had begun to drift past her. A single creature drew stealthily nearer to the pack, and past the overwhelming stench of orc that came from the opposite direction, Asta determined that the individual was human. An adult male, whose scent seemed somehow… familiar…

It was the sound of a booted foot on stone, much, much too close for comfort, that finally drove her into action, and before the human half of her brain had time to think, Asta found herself standing in front of Ori, her shoulders drawn back protectively to shield him as well as possible as she bared fangs at the threat before her. In the span of that same second, Dwalin had found his feet as well, and stood beside her, helping to shield Ori as well, and he lifted a large branch as a makeshift weapon threateningly.

The human instantly released his arrow, his aim true enough to bury the arrowhead in the exact middle of Dwalin’s ‘weapon’, without even a scratch on the dwarrow holding it. Half a blink later, and the rock that Kíli had raised to throw was shot cleanly out of his hand, and a third arrow was nocked in the bowman’s string. “Do it again, and you’re dead.”

The sound of the man’s voice jarred Asta’s memory, and in her surprise she found herself dropping out of her defensive stance despite the weapon still pointed at the Alpha’s Second. It was the human, the father of the girl she had saved from a warg pack several years ago. “Bard, of Laketown…” Asta hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until the human’s sharp eyes suddenly darted to her, and then went wide in identical surprise as he recognized her. “You-!”

“Excuse me…” Balin’s calm, reassuring voice cut through the odd tension that had settled between the two, each watching the other with the wary caution of any predator when faced with an obvious threat. Bard’s gaze moved to the elder dwarf as he spoke, but his bow remained leveled with Asta’s throat. “…but, you’re from Lake-town, if I’m not mistaken? That barge, over there, it wouldn’t be available for hire, by any chance?” Balin’s clever eyes bored into the human’s own, and Asta watched curiously as the archer slowly lowered his bow.

He moved to prepare his boat for travel as he answered Balin’s query, although Asta noted that the human remained watchful and wary of the pack in general and her in particular. A strange emotion had flashed through his eyes when he’d caught sight of her, and though he hadn’t made to address her since Balin had spoken, Asta could only watch and pray that he wouldn’t bring up her ‘condition’ in front of the pack.

“What makes you think I would help you?” Bard asked, though despite the callous words, his tone was oddly soft and resigned, as though he already knew how this would play out. Asta quietly began to make her way towards him, watching in mild amusement as he noted her approach with growing discomfort, muttering something about the dwarves’ boots having seen better days, before trailing off as the werewolf moved to stand before him. The archer’s fingers twitched towards his bow, but he made no move to lift his weapon, clearly knowing full well he would never make it in time.

Asta made certain to catch and hold his gaze for a moment before deliberately dropping her eyes, lowering her head in a slight, respectful bow. “Bard. I trust your remember me from our last encounter?” The assembled dwarves and hobbit watched in surprise as the tiny human spoke to the Man, but they made no move to interrupt. For his part, Bard nodded, eyes wary, but he didn’t make to interrupt, so the wolf continued. “You asked me then, what I would demand in payment for the life of your daughter, and I told you there was no debt, that it was merely human decency.”

 _There_. That had gotten a tiny spark of humor in his gaze, as he glanced her over once, pointedly, and she offered the smallest of grins in return, conceding the point. “Despite your misgivings as to the accuracy of that statement, I would ask the same of you this day. I know you risk much to aid us, but this would be an act above and beyond ‘human decency’, and it is gravely needed, for there are powers at work here beyond my ability to circumvent. I beg you.”

The Man looked more closely at her, and then cast his gaze about the Company once more, before sighing heavily, his shoulders slumping, and Asta knew she had won. “Regardless of your reassurances, my debt to you is one that cannot be repaid. I will do this thing for you, for the debt I owe you for saving my Sigrid’s life. But-” and here Balin stepped forward again to meet the human’s gaze, Asta gladly stepping back now that her part was over. “-I would like to know who you are, and what you are doing in these lands.”

Balin smiled reassuringly, and replied, “We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills.” Bard and Balin went back and forth for a short time after that, the pack growing increasingly more restless as precious moments were lost, before finally Bard was satisfied with their answers, and the Company was hurried on board his boat with the promise to smuggle them into Laketown. Far behind, and inaudible to all but Asta’s ears, the orc pack bayed out their hunting cries as their quarry made their way to the questionable ‘safety’ of Laketown. They had escaped.


End file.
